


Tale as Old as Time

by quartetship



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blood and Violence, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Retellings, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-17 01:14:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10583358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartetship/pseuds/quartetship
Summary: A dark & dangerous retelling of a beloved fairytale, in which a monstrous prince falls in love with a simple village boy.orA Klance Beauty & the Beast AU





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the sweet and wonderfully talented [Elentori](twitter.com/elentori) for the inspiration for this piece! 
> 
> NOTE: This retelling does stray away from many of the canon plot elements, and contains considerably darker elements, such as death, injury, etc. Please read tags with every update and be safe, friends! Otherwise enjoy!
> 
> \--

 

_ Many years ago, in a land and a time where the roses were near to blooming... _

 

In the throne room of the king and queen of Arus, dinner on the evening of their son’s tenth birthday ended as it always did, with entertainment of the entire royal family. Keith, the young prince and only child of his father, was a lover of fairytales and fables, and the servants who cared for his family were wonderful at crafting them. Every evening the royals would sit together after their meal and listen, Keith settled between his parents, all of them laughing and gasping and cheering together at the fantastic tales they were told. 

Outside, it rained hard enough to rattle the outermost doors. Such things did not dampen the festive mood indoors, however. That night was one for celebration, for Keith was nearing the age when he would begin preparing for his own time as king, one day. His parents sat proudly to either side of him as they reflected on his growth and enjoyed the performance of their royal attendants. 

Coran and his stepdaughter Allura - two of Keith’s favorite servants and storytellers - were nearly finished with a tale of a hero, a prince and a monster, when a sharp knocking interrupted them. The king allowed the intrusion, aware that only his highest-ranking messenger would disturb his family so late and in such foul weather. 

When the doors opened, they were indeed being held by Alfor, young Allura's father and the king’s most trusted advisor and speaker.

“Your forgiveness, highness,” Alfor asked, taking a knee in respect. He motioned behind himself as he stood again. “This woman insisted on speaking with you.” 

The king raised an eyebrow, standing from his seat. It was not customary for a woman to travel unaccompanied, let alone to bring a message on her own. Yet there stood a figure who was decidedly female in appearance, though hardly the image of feminine fairness that Keith saw in his own mother or his young playmate Allura.

This woman was tall and bone-thin, covered almost entirely by a cloak that drifted behind her as she stepped into view. Despite the fact that she had no doubt traveled far in the rain, her garment was dry, a stark contrast to Alfor’s clothing, clinging wetly to his shoulders and chest. As the fabric floated around her, Keith could see glimpses of skin that looked bruised, shades of mottled violet all over. Her long, white hair hung in wild and uneven strands that fell past the woman’s waist. She seemed to sway, even as she stood, and Alfor acted as if he trusted her entirely, though the king was clearly uneasy at the mere sight of her. Still, he could not look away, nor could Keith or the rest of the royal attendants. 

The woman was all at once unnerving and alarmingly magnetic.

“Your highness,” she began with a deep bow, “How wonderful to meet you, at last. I come in the name of your relatives, the house of Galra. Might I shelter in your castle from this evening's storm and discuss affairs with you and your lovely wife?”

With a practiced grace, the woman bowed again to the queen, her low, smoky voice turning up at the ends of her words as she looked back at the royals expectantly. It struck Keith odd, to see a woman - especially one so strange - speaking so openly, so forwardly with his father, but this woman did not seem troubled by their differences. She was unflappable, impossible to dismiss with her bold presence and forceful tone. Keith wondered if that was how she had managed to come so far, to enter the throne room of the king and queen without so much as an invitation.

Setting his jaw in a hard frown, the king shook his head. Whatever fearful charm she might have had did not seem to be working, on him. 

“Your reputation precedes you,” he said, his tone harsher than Keith had ever heard from his father. “I know of the wickedness your lord inflicts upon his people, and of the dark magic you, yourself have wrought. I would sooner discuss business with the  _ horse _ upon which my  _ enemy _ rides than with a wretch who comes in the name of Galra.” With a hard gesture toward the doors that signaled the servants to open them once more, the king made his refusal unmistakable. “Our castle will give no shelter to a witch like yourself, even on a night such as this. Be gone, and do not return.” 

For a moment, the witch looked back at him, mouth agape. Then, with a snap of her jaw so hard that the clack of her teeth was audible in the hushed throne room, she hissed, raising her arms. Two of the castle guards took hold of her, and she wrestled in their grasp as she fixed her angry gaze upon the king. 

“You will pay for your insolence,” she shrieked, eyes like embers glowing from behind the draping hood of her cloak. “You, and your  _ entire house _ will pay.” 

Prying one arm away from her captors, the woman cast her hand behind her, a beam of light brighter than the sun itself shooting from her palm. The light was somehow jagged, like the side of a dining knife, Keith thought in horrified wonder. It slashed through the chest of his father's faithful messenger, taking Alfor to the ground without a second’s pause. 

Across the room, Allura screamed, held back by Coran from running toward her father. Beside him, Keith heard his mother cry out as well, no doubt as frightened as he was. He held her waist, keeping himself close to her for both their sakes. She gathered him up beside her, clinging to him, her hammering heartbeat audible in his ear as she trembled. 

The spectacle playing out before them was something Keith could not have fashioned in his wildest dreaming. Guards, servants and staff of all manner were plucked up into the air by nothing, as if lifted carelessly by giant, invisible hands. Everyone was swept from their feet - Coran, Allura, every one of his family’s attendants - save for Keith and his parents. In an instant, the whole of the royal staff vanished, nothing but objects landing in the places they had stood moments before, a pile of furniture and treasure in front of the king. Struck speechless, Keith could only gasp, wondering if the many castle servants he had come to love had met the same bloody fate as his father’s favorite messenger. They were simply and inexplicably  _ gone.  _

“Alfor!” The king shouted after his messenger, but no response came. Keith's breath caught in his throat as his fear was realized; he had never witnessed death before. Stumbling forward, the king called out to the witch, demanding a response. “And where have you taken my servants?” 

Reaching a bony, bandage-wrapped hand from beneath the sleeve of her tattered cloak, the witch gestured widely at the array of things that had come to rest at the feet of the royal couple. “They're all right where you'd have them, my lord. At your feet.” 

Horror dawning on his face, the king took stock of all that lay around him, unmoving, inanimate pieces littering the castle floor. “Samuel?,” he asked of one, an edge of madness filtering into his voice as it shook in disbelief. He turned to another object, and then another. “Matthew? Shiro? What has  _ happened _ to you?” 

Without a moment for the king to mourn what he had lost, the witch took aim at Keith. With little more than a wave of her hand and the speaking of words that fell foreign upon Keith’s young ears, she lifted him from his mother’s arms, sending him spinning head over feet into the air. 

It happened in an instant. Keith’s entire body felt as if it were tearing apart, ripping at an invisible seam and splitting at every joining of his bones as he silently screamed. No sound came from him as the air was ripped from his lungs, his throat on fire along with his eyes, his ears, his skin,  _ all over. _ The gloves on his hands and the soft shoes on his feet fell away, torn by the sudden massiveness of his body as the majority of his clothing fell to the floor in tattered scraps as well. The only sound he could hear was the delighted laughter of the enchantress as she finished her incantation, and he fell limp and barely-lucid into his mother’s arms again. 

“Keith!” the king shouted, starting toward his son. When he caught sight of Keith, though, he froze. “What… What have you  _ done _ to him?” 

Visibly shaken, Keith's mother took hold of him, squeezing too tightly. In his fear, Keith clawed at her arms as she held tight to him, ignoring her frightened screams as she tried in vain to calm him. She pled with him to be still, but he only swiped at her face, her neck and shoulders, anywhere he could reach to push himself away from her. He did not understand what was happening, only that it hurt,  _ he _ hurt, and her grasp on him was only making it worse as every bone in his body and every inch of his skin ached like he'd been burned. Kicking and pushing against her until she loosed her grip, Keith freed himself at last, falling from her arms and knocking her to the floor in the process. When he opened his eyes to find her again, to pull her to her feet, he realized just what he had done. 

The queen lay on the ornate, stone floor, her blood beginning to color the mosaic tiles as she faded. Her face was twisted with pain and fright as she looked between Keith and the king, large gashes to her arms, chest and throat robbing her of the chance to say anything to either of them in parting. She reached for both of them, her last gesture before she stilled, her head coming to rest on the floor. 

Keith’s entire body was rocked with every imaginable, intolerable emotion at once. He felt as if he must be dreaming, must be fighting his way through a nightmare. His mother - his queen - was dead. 

The king’s voice thundered through the room at the sight. 

“Beloved!” He fell to his wife's side, collecting her into his arms. Keith watched, numb and shaking with fear as his father tenderly stroked his mother's face, the pain and fear in her eyes gone as she stared ahead, lifeless in his arms. Looking back to the witch with rage written on his features, the king lay his queen down gently where she had fallen, pulling his sword from its sheath. “You've killed my wife, you vile creature! You'll  _ die _ before you leave this place.”

The witch smiled, shining and wickedly sharp, like the blade of the sword pointed at her. “No, good king. Your  _ son _ has killed your wife. And it is you who will die before I leave this place.” 

She moved then, like the ghosts of Keith’s nightmares, inhuman in her speed as she darted toward both of them. The king with blade at the ready took a fighting stance, but the woman ignored him, seemingly uninterested in the fight he offered willingly. Instead, she made directly for Keith. 

“Keith, move!” the king cried. “Run!”

Keith could not respond. His mostly-bare feet seemed fixed to the floor. He was frightened, and his every urge screamed for him to run to his father, to seek the shelter and protection that he doubted he deserved. He was a murderer, a monster, and it was  _ he _ who had taken his mother's life, accident or not. He could not have blamed his father in that moment if the king had thrown him to the floor and put his sword through Keith's heart, himself. 

But he did not. Instead, the king threw himself between Keith and the enchantress, still calling out to his son to run. Paralyzed with fear, Keith only withdrew, cowering where he crouched, unable to move at all. So his father stood over him, sword drawn. Even with his mastery of the blade, however, the king was no match for the woman's wicked magic; he fell without a fight, landing at Keith's side. 

At once, the room seemed to shift around Keith. His parents, his servants, his every protector within the walls of the castle were gone, dead at his feet. He was exposed, an uncaged animal without shelter from the demon who had transformed him, or from the unruly fear and anger coursing through him in that moment. Afraid of his own breath as he drew it, he shuddered. 

“What's the matter, child? Afraid, without your mother to coddle you?” Using the terrifying light that seemed to slither into existence from the ends of her fingers, she raised the fallen queen’s tiara from where it had come to rest on the bloodied stone floor, examining it for a moment as she spoke before casting it aside callously. 

“Children do need love, don't they? Too bad your parents loved their thrones too much to extend hospitality beyond their own blood, isn't it?” The witch stepped toward him, no sound of footfall to be heard in her wake. Her cloak seemed to float all around her as she moved between the bodies of Keith's mother and father, without a glance toward either of them. Her only focus was Keith himself, quivering before her on the floor. Her horrid, yellow eyes glinted like an animal, nearing its prey as she smiled down at him. “Not that they'd be of any help to you if that blood had remained in their veins. The last look they had at you was of a creature too hideous to love.” 

Keith winced. He looked down at his hands; where soft, short fingers had once been, there were jagged claws, tipped in his mother’s blood. He recoiled, crawling backward toward the room's darkest corner, nowhere to go to escape the horror that was his own body. 

Blinking, he looked up at the witch, finding his voice at last. “Are… Are you going to kill me, too?” 

“Oh no, dear child,” she said, her voice suddenly softer. Her tone was delicate, mockingly sweet, and she waved her long, bandaged fingers like a dancer, conjuring violet light from nowhere. “I'd rather you live. Live, and see what a monster your bloodline has created.” The light swirling in front of the witch flashed and sparked, and an ornate, iron-framed hand mirror glimmered into existence. She held it up and out so that Keith could see its face, and see his own within it. 

The air left his lungs as he took in the full sight of himself. 

Where once only the crown of his head had been capped in shiny, black hair, now it framed his fearsome face like a mane. His skin was dusted with hair as well, shorter, like animal fur in horrifying shades of inky indigo. His eyes were large and unfamiliar, blinking too rapidly as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Tiny, twisted horns jutted from the places just above his temples, the source of the pain that still squeezed his head like a vice, unforgiving no matter how he moved. As his mouth fell open, he could see teeth, not unlike those of a dog, large and sharp and terrifying to behold. He brought a hand - now much more like a large, claw-tipped paw - up to his face and felt for anything,  _ any _ sign that what he was seeing was not real. 

He found no such comfort. 

Biting back another ear-splitting cackle, the witch pushed the mirror through the air with unseen force, until it hovered right in front of Keith. “What's the matter, boy? Don't like what you see?”

Finally feeling the full weight of everything the evil enchantress had taken from him, of the future he no longer had, Keith's fear gave way to fury. He slapped the mirror out of the air, growling as it clattered to the floor beside him. “Change me back!” he roared, though his voice shook with the need to cry. “Change me back or send me to be with my parents.” 

“I'm afraid you cannot die.” The witch’s words bubbled out of her like a giggle, adding fuel to the fire raging in Keith’s chest. “The only way you'll ever feel mortal blood course through your veins again is to be loved exactly as you are by another being as deeply as you love them, as deeply as I imagine your mother once loved you.” Casting a last, prideful look down at the queen, the witch grinned, looking back at Keith where he crouched. “Sadly, I don't think that'll be easy for you now, will it,  _ beast?”  _

On reflex, Keith hiccuped, a half-swallowed sob for all that he had lost. More than pleased with herself, the witch threw her head back in laughter. The hood of her cloak fell away to reveal an aged face, seemingly bruised like the rest of her skin. Her dagger-sharp smile taunted Keith as she cackled, the sight and sound a twist of the knife she had already plunged into his heart. With nothing left to lose, he charged at her, clawed hands and feet raking painfully against stone as he ran on all fours. He didn't even know what he'd do if he caught her, but he was certain he would die trying to kill her, if he could. 

He would not have the chance. Before he could so much as land a single claw against the fabric of her robes, she was gone, leaving only the echo of her laughter and the deafening silence of an empty castle, and one frightened and angry monster that had once been a happy child. 

Then and for every evening after, Keith was alone.


	2. The Great, Wide Somewhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I want adventure in the great, wide somewhere. I want it more than I can tell."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for the warm and wonderful response to the first chapter of this story! I hope you'll enjoy this one just as much, and please keep in mind: Lance and the others have growing to do, so bear with them. 
> 
> Thanks a bunch for reading! Enjoy!
> 
> \--

The village of Arus was a beautiful place. It sat serenely along the winding creeks and babbling brooks of the countryside that surrounded the castle at its heart. A pastoral, provincial town, it was home to as many winding vines and flowering trees as it was home to people. With needs met by local merchants and industrious villagers, themselves, life in the quiet town came out upon the streets before the sun was even properly risen, each day. 

The gentle wind moving through the huddled groups of buildings breathed that life, in and out. An unbroken pattern. An unending beat. 

Arus was a fishing town, and though it had no real port of its own, the blessings of the sea sustained its people. The first light of morning would bring with it the twittering of seabird and songbird alike, and usher the friendly folk from their homes to trade, to talk and to move things along as they always, always did. It was a place of predictability. No one needed telling what was to be done, it simply  _ happened, _ every day like the one before. 

This was a royal province with no royalty to rule it. With nary a sound from the courtyard of the Castle of Lion’s - the town's now still and silent heart - in nearly a decade, the Arusian people went about their business and cared for themselves, under the guidance of a royal steward with little power of his own. However, with the approach of the long-missing prince’s twenty-first birthday, the crown would officially pass to the son of the steward, if left unclaimed. Of course, how could a crown be reclaimed if the family who had deserted it had not be heard from, let alone  _ seen _ in years? 

It was a subject of much gossip within the cobbled streets of Arus. 

That idle chatter was the blood that ran through most villagers’ veins, it seemed. With little else to do, people in Arus talked. When the disappearance of their royal family years earlier was not enough to satisfy that need for topics to prattle about, the townspeople talked about one another. It was all part of the hum of life in a province some faraway kingdoms had come to consider deceased. However, with its noisy midday streets, animals and people making their everyday rounds, and men pulling fish from the sea every day at dawn, the town of Arus was a thing very much alive. 

In the midst of it all was a boy named Lance, and if he could help it, right in the middle of things was  _ exactly _ where he would be. 

“Lance, do you have any idea how difficult it is to get things done around here when I'm worrying about where you've gotten off to?” Lance’s mother frowned, arms crossed as she stood in the way of the door closing, eyeing her son with irritation as he slipped past her. Plucking up a clean fork from the washing she had just finished, Lance poked at the cooling skillet of eggs his mother had undoubtedly made before realizing he wasn't home. Again. 

“Sorry, mama. I just get bored, stuck in the house all day.” He ate through nearly half the eggs before his mother had the chance to hand him a plate. She twisted her mouth to one side. 

“Then you could have been helping Mrs. Holt with something, if you needed out of the house so badly.” 

Mouth full of food, Lance groaned. “I help Mrs. Holt with something every day, mama. You know that. Besides, she doesn't even  _ need _ my help. She's got Pidge.”

“Katie,” Lance’s mother corrected, “Is. little more than a child. A very small girl, too. How is  _ she _ supposed to help her mother with chores?” 

Lance huffed through his nose. “Pidge is more than just a small girl, mama. Believe me.”

At the comment, his mother mysteriously brightened. “Well perhaps if you spent more time with her mother, the two of you would have time to get to know each other better as well.” She cracked more eggs over the skillet, bringing it back up to temperature. The smile on her face seemed far too festive for a woman cooking breakfast for the second time in a single morning. Squinting at her as the food sizzled and hissed, Lance shook his head. 

“What do you mean? Pidge and I have known each other since before I remember. We know each other just fine.” 

“What I  _ mean,” _ his mother answered impatiently, “is that you are of the age that you need to be thinking of finding someone of your own to settle down with. And I'm sure Katie would make a wonderful-”

“Wait, whoa, whoa,  _ whoa, _ mama. No. No way, Pidge and I are friends.  _ Best _ friends. Brother and sister or something, really. I love her, but… It's not like that.” Truly, Lance didn't have the heart to tell his mother what it  _ was _ like. He had no way of expressing how desperately he wanted out of the village of Arus, to get away and live a life of more excitement and adventure, and how to tell his sweet, faithful mother that the thought of settling down with just one person and raising a houseful of children sounded absolutely dreadful. 

Instead he just sighed, and took another bite of his breakfast. His mother shook her head and returned to tending her cooking. 

“Have it your way, then,” she hummed. There was a long silence then, as she scooped the finished food out onto a plate to cover, no doubt to send with Lance on his daily rounds looking after half the village. His mother washed her hands, straightened her apron over her dress, and turned back to her son, with a dark, manicured eyebrow raised. “So if you  _ weren't _ with the Holts this morning, where were you?” 

There was a moment of panic in Lance when he realized that she had backed him into a corner, yet again. The peal of dread was familiar; he was a terrible liar, especially to his mother. He heaved a sigh and gave her an honest answer. 

“I was out by the seaside. Yes, again.”

“Mhm,” his mother nodded, brushing a fallen wisp of hair from her face, a subtly smug gesture of triumph. “And you were doing what, exactly?”

“Just listening.” Lance wanted to shout his response, but he couldn't bring himself to raise his voice. He always felt small when he knew he was disappointing her. Or anyone, truly. “I like to listen to the sailors, you know? They talk about where they've been and where they're going. It all sounds so exciting.” 

Though he feared another lecture, Lance was surprised when his mother smiled at him, a sad, soft expression that somehow made him feel just as guilty. “Sweetheart,” she began, crossing the room to place a cupped hand on his cheek. For a moment, the beginnings of crow’s feet were visible at the corners of her eyes, though she seemed unfazed for the passing of a few seconds. “I know you would like to sail, too. I know you miss your father and your brothers, and I know you would rather live the life that they do. But you are needed here.” 

“But I didn't have a  _ choice,”  _ Lance grumbled. It wasn't an argument; his mother was right. Still, he hated that his father and every male relative spent their days sailing and living the stories he heard at the bay, while he could only listen to them. “And you and Mrs. Holt don't even really need my help.” 

“You're much more valuable to us than you believe, my son.” She stroked his cheek with her thumb, pinching it slightly before letting her hand fall away. “Having you here means a great deal to all of us. You would do well to remember that.” She gave him one last smile and then returned to her task of packaging food for Lance to take with him when he left again. Defeated for the moment, Lance sighed his resignation. 

“I know, mama. I know.” 

\--

The short distance to the Holt family home from his own was a route that Lance had long since memorized. In a town like Arus, every person was a neighbor, and every neighbor knew the others by name. And everyone in town knew him, it seemed. 

Though they cheerfully greeted him as he passed, Lance was well aware that the talk behind his back was much different than the jovial banter he heard. The people in the village had always found him a bit peculiar, had always given his mother advice on why she shouldn't let the youngest of her many sons wander too much abroad. He was a roamer and a rascal, in his youth, but with the dawning of adulthood, his neighbors found him strange for new and different reasons.

Lance wanted little to do with the life of his sleepy little province. He was far more interested in waving flirtatiously to the young ladies he passed in the town's twisting roads than _settling down_ with any one of them. This seemed to bother and disturb the village elders, though he still had not pinpointed why, exactly. He knew, though, that they were prone to whispers just loud enough for his mother to hear his name amongst the passive aggressive poppycock, and she bore the weight of his disappointing others more fully than she should have. 

He knew she wanted the best for him, and wanted his happiness. Lance only wished that he and his mother could agree on what the best for him was. 

Still, begrudgingly though he may have done it, Lance made his best effort at doing right by her. He looked after the homestead and his mother, helped the widows and women in town who asked, and even checked in with the neighbors, Mrs. Holt and her daughter Pidge. That was his favorite of his daily chores, the one he would spend the most time doing, when he could help it. 

He made his way down the walk-worn paths through town, toward the familiar little home of his close friend and her mother. 

“Morning, Mrs. Holt!” Lance chimed when he arrived at the gate. As if she had not come to expect him at almost precisely the same time every morning, Mrs. Holt beamed through the window, waving as she hurried away from it to welcome him through her door. 

“I was wondering when I'd see that smiling face of yours today, young man. Oh, and bearing gifts, I see. Tell your mother thank you for the food. And yesterday's, as well.” 

“Always do,” Lance assured her. “Is Pidge around?” 

Mrs. Holt smiled, nodding her head. “I'm sure Katie is just outside, somewhere. She never goes far. I'd check the back garden, if I were you.” 

Lance nodded, and moved toward the door before stopping himself and turning on his heel. “Do you need anything today, ma'am?” he asked, remembering the reason he was technically there. Smiling sweetly, Mrs. Holt shook her head. 

“No, dear. But thank you. You run along and find Katie. I'm sure she'll be glad for your company.” 

Breathing the slightest sigh of relief, Lance gave his friend’s mother a cheerful wave and headed back to the door. 

\--

Lance found Pidge Holt in one of the few places she almost always was. Today, that was hanging from bent legs, upside down in her family’s blossoming apple tree. The skirt she wore over her entirely exposed pantaloons was bunched and tied roughly at her side, a silly sight regardless of how commonplace it had become to Lance by then. When he snorted a laugh, she jolted, nearly falling. As soon as she was on the ground again safely, she took a swat at him. 

“I could've broken my neck because of you, you know!” She hissed. Biting back further laughter, Lance nodded. 

“Mhm. And who was the one who  _ chose _ to hang like a bat from the tree?” He prodded her in the shoulder, to which she only offered a glare in response. A breath of silence passed, and then she was snatching him by the arm without further ceremony, pulling him after her. 

“Come up here with me, I've got something to show you.” She let go of Lance only to grab hold of the tree again, scaling it like a cat. Lance watched, eyebrow raised. 

“You sure this thing isn't gonna fall if we both climb it?” 

Throwing a frown over her shoulder, Pidge scoffed. “It holds me and Hunk. You're not that much more weight.” 

“That had better not have been a fat joke!” a third voice called down from somewhere in the tree’s leafy branches. Recognizing it as his friend Hunk’s, Lance grinned anew, following Pidge upward. 

The tree that sat behind the Holt’s house had indeed grown large and sturdy, since Lance was a child. He could remember scaling it when he was barely weighty enough to bend the branches, even when they were far too thin for such nonsense. As his teenage years left him, both he and his friends and the tree had matured, all harder and more resistant to the winds of wear. 

In one of the higher branches still near enough to the tree’s trunk to hold them, Lance found Hunk and settled across from him. Hunk smiled and the two of them watched Pidge scurry between them, parting the tree’s leafy branches to get a better view of the Castle of Lions in the distance. 

“This morning I saw something moving at the castle,” she began. In unison, Lance and Hunk groaned. 

“Here we go,” Hunk muttered. Pidge smacked his shoulder, hard enough to hear.

“I'm serious!” she huffed. “There's been a lot of it, lately. But this morning it was something inside the castle. Or  _ someone.”  _

Lance shook his head, frowning. “No one has been inside the castle since we were kids.” 

“How do we know that?” Pidge asked. Taken aback, Lance shrugged.

“If anyone  _ was _ in there, why wouldn't they have come out by now?” 

“I don't know,” Pidge said, “But there has to be a reason for the royal family just boarded everything up and disappeared. That doesn't happen.” 

Hunk gestured toward the castle in the distance. “It did, though. Like it happened right there.”

“You know what I mean!” Pidge insisted. “Look, I know you guys probably just think I'm obsessed with the castle because of my brother and my dad-”

“But Pidge, that's ok,” Lance said quickly, with Hunk nodding in agreement across from him. Pidge’s father Samuel and brother Matthew were servants of the royal family, when Lance, Pidge and the rest of their cohort were young children. When the king, queen and prince disappeared, the entire castle staff vanished along with them, leaving Pidge and her mother scared, devastated and alone. Lance could never bring himself to tell her to get over her loss, when he couldn’t fathom doing the same. 

“You're  _ allowed _ to still be upset. It's weird and it's crazy and scary and sad, and you're allowed to not be over it.” 

“But that's not what this is about!” she shouted. When Lance went still at her tone, she bit her lips together, drawing a long, deep breath through her nose before sighing. “Something is going on in the castle. Specifically, something or someone is alive and moving around in there, and there's a chance they might know what happened to the royal family. And yes, to  _ my _ family, too.” 

There was a long silence then, as the three of them watched the castle together. True to everything he had known of the place for as long as he could remember, Lance saw nothing but creeping vines and boarded windows, save for  in a high tower that showed nothing but an empty room to the world outside. He couldn't blame Pidge for wishing the truth was different; at least he knew where his father and siblings were. Still, he thought it best she didn't dwell in her sorrows for too long at a time. 

He slid a hand across her back, a soothing gesture. “Well it's not like you can go knock on the door, Pidge. Otherwise we’d be right behind you.”  

“Lance is right,” Hunk agreed, looping an arm over Pidge’s shoulders as well. “The Castle of Lions is locked up so tight, even the stewards have never been able to get inside. There's just not much we can do.”

“Anyway, why don't we go do something?” Lance suggested to them both, seeing that Pidge was making no effort to smile. “Take our minds off things for a bit.” 

Hunk jumped down from his perch immediately, surely glad to move away from the topic at hand, but Lance lingered as he watched Pidge turn the option over in her mind for a moment. Finally, she conceded. 

“Yeah, alright.” 

Lance took her hand and squeezed it. They climbed down from the tree to join Hunk, hopped the wooden fence that circled Pidge’s family home, and made their way out onto the cobbled streets together.

\--

“So she says,  _ ‘You and Katie could get to know each other better’, _ with like a wink, like we don't already know each other.” Lance groaned as his friends snickered at his impression of his mother. Though he knew she meant well, he couldn’t help himself but to complain. “She's gunning for me to get married and give her a dozen grandchildren as soon as possible, and at this point, I think she'd pair me up with anybody who could tolerate me for more than a few hours.”

“Sorry about your limited choices, then,” Pidge cracked. When Lance took a swipe at her she ducked, and his hand landed sharply across Hunk’s back instead. Hunk elbowed him in response, and soon the three of them were a pile of living laughter, stopped at a low, stone wall to catch their breath. 

“I really am sorry, though,” Pidge said, wiping a tear from her eye. Lance liked seeing her that way, loved seeing his friends breathless and tearstained from laughter rather than sadness. Pidge smiled at him, maybe a little wistfully. “Thankfully my mother is in no hurry for me to find someone. I think she likes having me around too much.”

On Lance’s other side, Hunk shrugged. “I think my father will just be happy with whatever happens for me, as long as I’m happy. And I keep the bakery open.” 

Lance laughed. “I think the whole  _ village _ would mourn that loss, if not.”

“Yeah, yeah. No pressure, right?” Hunk grinned. For a moment there was something else on his face, something less joyful, and Lance recognized it as familiar as Hunk reached up to rub at the back of his own neck. In his eyes was the same far-off look Lance saw in his own, reflected in every pane of glass he gazed through as he thought about his future. Hunk alluded to it, but would not give it a name. 

“I'd rather do my own things, but I… I guess it could be worse.”

“Guess so,” Lance agreed, and Pidge nodded as well, but there was a heavy silence that sprawled across the shoulders of all three of them, as if to remind them that while it could indeed be worse, it certainly wasn't getting any better, either. 

Life in Arus was what it was, day after day, year after year. The three of them sighed almost in unison, and only then did they laugh again at last. 

\--

Lance treasured the company of his friends. Unlike the majority of the village, Pidge and Hunk understood him. They took him at face value, took him for what he was and not what they wished he might instead become, and loved him in the moment, every moment. He only hoped that no matter what else happened, things could be that way forever. 

Making their way through the stone streets and toward the banks of the sea, the three of them fell into easy silence. In a town where talk was everything, quiet was a commodity rarely traded. Each of them was glad for it for their own reasons.

The docks upon which the town’s small fishing vessels were tied in the evenings were in sight on the horizon when the usual murmur of street life around the three friends fell into strange silence. Lance noticed it before his friends did, mostly because the reason for that sudden hush seemed to be blocking their path forward. 

That reason also seemed to be looking right at Lance, himself. 

In the middle of the street, stopped as if his stillness hadn't halted people both behind and to either side of him, stood a man that looked near to Lance's age, but far, far different than Lance himself. Where Lance and his friends wore simple, practical clothing, this tall, slender man wore elegantly embroidered pieces in shades of violet, silver and red. His long hair fell straight down his back and spilled over his shoulders, braided in intricate designs at his temples and whiter than the caps of sea waves or the frost of mid-winter. His skin was almost as pale, and his features were fine and sharp. He looked straight forward in Lance's direction, ignoring the fact that the town at large - now including Hunk and Pidge - were staring at him curiously. 

“You look rather lovely this morning,” the stranger crooned, unhurriedly approaching Lance and looking him over, like he was some sort of freshly-picked fruit. His voice was deep and startling clear above the whispers of the townsfolk beginning to chatter again, all of them staring. “As beautiful in person as you are in a crowd. Lance, isn't it? That is what I was told upon inquiring.” 

“Uh, y-yeah, thank you…” Lance replied, suddenly feeling hot and itchy beneath the loose collar of his shirt. He shifted uneasily, not usually one to mind the attention of another person. This particular person’s gaze was far too focused, though. “I'm sorry, I don't actually know your name.”

The man blinked, shock registered on his face. “You - oh of course, you  _ wouldn't _ know my proper name, would you? Your people only know my family by our titles.” He made a deep bow, with a practiced poise Lance had never seen before in his life. “I am Lotor, son of Zarkon and steward of the throne of the Kingdom of Arus.” He stood again, plucking a gold coin from his pocket, a rare sight in a town that traded mostly by barter. He offered it out to Lance to inspect, throwing his long hair over his shoulder with great showmanship as Lance did so. “And future  _ king, _ of course.” 

The coin in his palm seemed as foreign to Lance as the out-of-place man before him did. Stamped with the words ‘House of Galra’, it showed a picture of a haggard-looking man on one side, and swirling script on the other that Lance did not understand. He did not cling too tightly to it, feeling far too strange just holding the thing.

Before he could register what had been said to him while he studied the coin - let alone come up with some sort of reply - Pidge stepped in front of him, hands on her hips. “I thought your family would only assume the crown if the prince didn't reclaim it.” 

Lotor laughed, stepping aside as if to move her out of his sight. “Oh, child. You think he will return? After all these years?” Glancing in the direction of the Castle of Lions, Lotor shook his head. “No. The prince is gone. The royal bloodline is dead, and the house of Galra will be its new beginning. And I, alone, am heir to the throne.” 

“Unless the prince comes back,” Pidge said, sounding very matter-of-fact. Lotor looked her over for a moment and visibly sneered, eyes narrowed.

“You're rather annoying, aren't you?” He swept the cloak he wore at his back out and back, as if to frighten Pidge away. What happened instead was the appearance of two large men at Lotor’s sides, seemingly from nowhere. They stood by silent and waiting, watching Lotor as he watched Pidge. Hostility becoming palpable between the two of them, Hunk reached an arm in front of Pidge and turned her around, pulling her away from the steward as if her life depended on it. 

“Well, it's been great to speak to you, y-your, uh, your highness, but we-”

“When I assume the throne at summer’s end, I will need a consort at my side,” Lotor continued, paying neither Hunk nor Pidge any further mind. His only focus was Lance, who still stood, looking back at him like an animal alarmed by a passerby. For some reason, Lance found himself unable to move, too transfixed by all that was happening. The faintest whisper of panic began to rise up in his chest. Lotor seemed to give that little consideration, either. 

“I would certainly consider you a worthy option for such a companion, Lance my dear. You would make a fine husband to a king. Given your handsome appearance, I'd say we make an attractive pair.” 

“Oh, uh, okay,” Lance stammered, handing the coin back to Lotor. It wasn't how he'd pictured a proposal of marriage to take place, and certainly wasn't something he was even remotely interested in. He fidgeted, feeling prickling, bothersome heat returning in his ears and at the back of his neck. “Well. That's… That's really nice of you to say and all, but I'm not… I don't really think…” 

“Not that you'd have much say in the matter, of course,” Lotor smiled. “A king can choose his spouse from any of his people, and you are - by my estimation - the fairest among the flock of sheep that walk these streets.”

“What a compliment,” Pidge piped back up, this time drawing an angry scowl from the steward in reply. 

“I'd suggest you teach your friends how to address their betters, however,” Lotor told Lance, still speaking with a voice that dripped sweetness like a honey spoon. “A future prince should not be seen in such…  _ tasteless _ company.” With that, he took Lance's hand to take back his coin, and in doing so, bent to place a kiss upon Lance’s fingers. “Goodbye, my dear Lance. We shall soon meet again.” 

With a final lash of his snow-white hair as he turned to leave, Lotor went on his way, leaving Lance feeling strangely nauseous in his wake. He watched him and the two men guarding him as they left, not entirely sure the moment had really happened just as it had. Never had such sweet words soured his stomach so harshly. He was still somewhat numb for a long while after, even as Hunk dragged him along, until Pidge interrupted his feverishly fast thoughts with a grumble from somewhere over his shoulder. 

“What a pile of goat sh-”

Hunk tossed a bag in her direction, and snickered a little too enthusiastically when she nearly dropped it. “Well, he  _ is _ pretty.” 

Lance nodded, still ill at ease. “I wonder how he gets his hair like that.”

“Probably has like seven servants that braid it for him every morning while he sits in a bubble bath up to his chest,” Pidge snapped, digging into the bag in her arms. Inside was a selection of snacks Hunk had brought for the day, and Pidge took some cured meat before tossing it back at him and fixing Lance with a hard glare. “Surely you're not falling for that sack of garbage and his word vomit, are you?”

“Are you kidding?” Lance yelped, suddenly aware of what his confused staring after the steward must have looked like to his friends. “I don't want to be married at all. Being tied to one person forever sounds boring, if you ask me. You know I love kids, but having a bunch of my own? Nah. Plus, I can't imagine wanting to basically worship my spouse, like my mother and her friends all seem to. And having it be a freak like that guy? And a king, too?” Lance snagged some of the salty snack from Pidge’s hand and bit into it to stop himself rambling, puckering at the sharp taste. He coughed, sputtering from a mixture of thirst and disgust at the thought of himself spending a lifetime bowing down to a husband he didn't want in the first place.

“I'd sooner volunteer as the town  _ sewer _ keeper than spend my life calling some overdressed creep pet names.” They reached the banks of the sea then, and he inhaled the scent of the misty air to calm himself. 

Pidge huffed through her nose, seemingly satisfied with that response. “Well at least  _ someone _ has some sense,” she said, turning to Hunk. Hunk rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up as he found a place to sit on the dock. 

“I didn't say Lance should  _ marry _ the guy, I just said he was pretty. I feel like that's an objective fact.” 

“I guess anyone who had that much money and time on their hands would be,” Lance sighed, settling beside Hunk on the short pier. 

“I don't care what he looks like, he's an absolute pig,” Pidge hissed. “And that stuff he said -  _ no one _ knows what happened to the prince and the rest of the castle, especially anyone close to our age. We were kids when they disappeared!”

“Yeah, but he's not exactly wrong,” said Lance. “It's not very likely that the royal family is just going to waltz back into the Castle of Lions one day as if nothing happened.”

“We don't know that they won't!” Once again, Pidge’s voice topped out with a broken shout, and the silence it left in its wake was amplified by its echo from the empty piers and the sides of unmanned boats that bobbed in the shallow water. She looked down at her shoes then, sighing. “Look, I'm gonna go home, okay? I should get back to my mom before it gets dark.”

“Pidge, I didn't…” Lance began, but he trailed off when he realized she was leaving, regardless. “Alright. See you later,” he waved after her, and cast a long look out over the water as he tried to let go of the day as it had played out. 

“I'll go check on her in a little while,” Hunk reassured him, and Lance knew that he would. “I'm sure she'll be okay.”

“I know. At least I hope she will,” Lance answered, his eyes still fixed on the horizon. The sky beyond the water was a dozen shades of orange and pink, and it pulled at something deep in Lance's chest that longed for the unexplainable and unseen. “I hope all of us will.”

After a beat of silence, Hunk laughed. “Hey, worst case scenario, you'll be a prince.”  

Lance groaned. “Don't you start that, Hunk.”

“Can we still be friends when you rule the world?” Hunk asked, and he sounded far too genuine for Lance’s liking. However, when he stood and bowed theatrically, Lance couldn't help snorting. Hunk grinned in response. “Your majesty.” 

“The only thing I wanna do with the world is see it,” Lance laughed. “And you can come along, as far as I'm concerned.” 

“If I can get away from the bakery long enough,” Hunk smiled. The weighted silence from earlier that day settled over them again, but in that moment, it wasn't quite as uncomfortable. Something about the water lapping at his feet as he dangled them over the dock’s edge made Lance feel more at ease, if only for short time. He looked back at his friend, smiling too. 

“One of these days, hopefully we can all get away for a while.” 

\--

That night, Lance paced the floors of his home, more restless than usual. Since childhood, he had always had trouble sleeping. A dreamer even in the light of day, the hours before sleep were always busy times, in his mind. He did most of his thinking then, looking out his window and wondering what lie beyond it. 

That night was no different. Sitting in the window itself, Lance could see the smallest glimpse of the Castle of Lions, and looking at it then, it occurred to him that he very well might one day have to call the place home. If Lotor was right, stewards could choose their companion, and he would have little say in his own life from then on. 

He tried to imagine himself, a consort. Trying to call to mind images of his future self, attending banquets and being served tea and waving to subjects of the crown, he grimaced. None of it fit with the way he saw himself; nothing about life as a royal suited him in the least. 

Still, there was a heaviness in his stomach as he considered the fact that he might have no choice. When he had regaled his mother with the details of the day, she had received them much more gladly than he had. She had told him how handsome he would look in silver robes and glistening jewels, in a crown that was bested in beauty only by his husband and king’s. The pride in her voice and the joy in her eyes made Lance wish he shared it with her. 

Maybe, if he tried hard enough, he could convince himself that it wasn't so bad. 

Perhaps he could still visit the village from time to time. Perhaps, if Lance pleased him, Lotor would allow Lance visits with his friends. Being separated from Pidge and Hunk was a foreign concept to him, after all, more strange even than being fitted for robes of satin and silk. Smiling to himself, he could almost hear their familiar voices, calling his name, overjoyed to see him again in the sad fantasies he entertained of his life as a prince. 

Then, quite suddenly, Lance realized he really  _ could _ hear a voice, calling to him from the thicket of bushes and brambles that ran along the ground beneath his second story window.

“Lance!” Hunk hissed, and tried to stand on the shaky mass of branches the bushes provided. He waved his arms to get his friend’s attention.

“Hunk?” Lance whispered, blinking until he was certain he wasn't imagining the sight of his friend outside his window. “Hunk, it's the middle of the night. What are you doing here?” 

“Pidge is gone!” Hunk blurted out, panic in his voice. Lance squinted, shaking his head, already trying to figure out how to get Hunk s inside without alarming his mother.

“Pidge is… _ What? _ What do you mean? How do you even know?” 

“My dad made too many of those sweet buns she likes today, so he was gonna throw them out. I said I'd take them to her, because I know she stays up late, and I still needed to check on her from before. I went over there and her mom said she wasn't home. Now Mrs. Holt is freaking out because Pidge didn't even tell her she was going anywhere.” Hunk shook his head as if to clear it, clapping his hands over his ears and dragging his fingers roughly down the sides of his face. Lance reached out to help his friend climb in through the window, and before Hunk had even made it comfortably onto the bed, he was reaching into a bag he had slung low on his waist. 

“I found this pinned on the tree.” He pulled out a note, scribbled on torn parchment. It was indeed Pidge’s familiar, messy script, a short message with unmistakable intent. 

_ I'm going to find out what happened to my father and my brother. Don’t look for me. I won't be back until I know the truth.  _

It wasn't signed, but Lance knew that everyone who would have reason to read it would need no such assurance. In front of him, Hunk all but wailed, not bothering to keep his voice down. 

“She's gonna get herself hurt or killed, Lance! We've got to go after her.” 

Lance’s first response was to look back at Hunk wide-eyed, questioning his friend’s sanity. The areas that surrounded the Castle of Lions - undoubtedly where Pidge was headed, given all that they had talked about that day - were overgrown, said to be thick with thorns and dangerous to go near, let alone try to navigate  _ through. _ Besides, on the off chance that something or someone  _ was _ alive inside the castle walls, he wasn't certain he'd want to know what it was, let alone risk coming face to face with it. 

The spiral of dread in his stomach was not louder than his fear for his friend’s safety, though, and Hunk made a strong case; Pidge was famous for taking on far too much to handle, alone. Lance knew what she would do for him, if such a need arose, and he intended to pay that favor forward. Without pausing to give himself time for reluctance, he nodded, rising from where he lay. 

“Yeah. Yeah, okay, you’re right. Let's go.”


	3. Here's Where He Meets Prince Charming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _... but he won't discover that it's him, 'til chapter three..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the update delay on this chapter, friends! Hope you'll enjoy the new stuff! Thanks as always to [Elentori](twitter.com/Elentori) for the inspiration that created this fic!
> 
> \--

Escaping the edges of the town proper was the easiest task of the evening. 

As many times as both boys had skirted the outlying roads that led away from their tiny, fenced-in life and out into the great, wide somewhere, they moved easily, even by cover of night. Lance knew the land beyond the light of street lamps better even than his friend, and they had moved out of earshot of any other villagers before he even had time to consider what they were doing. Perhaps that was what slowed his steps as they approached the distant Castle of Lions, though he told himself it was only his unfamiliarity with their path as rugged road became overgrown brick. 

He didn't  _ want _ to be outside so late at night, afraid in the middle of a foreign stretch of land, too far for his mother to hear his cries if something were to happen. That much was decided for him. 

Lance tugged at the back of Hunk's shirt, stopping him in his tracks. 

“Why aren't you afraid?” he asked bluntly. Lance would have never been so timid in the light of day, but without its warmth his skin felt cold, goosebumps covering its surface. He squinted suspiciously at Hunk. “You're usually the one shaking in your boots over creepy stuff like this.” 

“You think I'm not scared?” Hunk hissed, eyes wide enough to see them shine in the moonlight. “I'm terrified, Lance. But I… We can't just let Pidge go do something stupid and get herself killed, can we?” 

Lance swallowed. He knew Hunk was right, of course. Even if Pidge was fully capable of handling what would likely be a fruitless journey to a dusty, abandoned castle on her own, on the off chance that something did happen to her, he couldn't live with himself knowing he hadn't done anything to stop it. He was beginning to think Hunk felt the same way, but perhaps a bit moreso. 

“Yeah,” he said, letting go of Hunk's clothing. “I know. Just making sure I wasn't the only one.” 

Perhaps it was out of fear, or maybe a gesture of reassurance that they both needed, but Hunk took hold of Lance's sleeve then, holding it as they moved hesitantly onward. It was small, to be certain. But it silently spoke something that Lance's mind was glad to hear. 

_ There is no shame in fear.  _

\--

Finding their way onto the castle grounds came in stages, like the chapters of a slowly unfurling tale that Lance could not have imagined the length of. 

He had known the castle and its courtyard would be grand. The older people in the village loved to tell stories of years gone by, when the king and queen would open up the gates to the gardens, and entertain all of Arus within its gleaming, vine-wrapped walls. The sights he and Hunk were privilege to that evening, though, were very different from those that he had heard described by sadly sighing old women. 

Just a few minutes’ walk along the brick roadway, the massive garden gates came into view. Lance had never seen fencing so high, and the lock alone looked so rusted and worn that any hope of picking it was likely out of the question. Still, he dug through his pockets, feeling for anything that might help. 

“She's been through here!” Hunk barked, tearing Lance’s thoughts from the massive lock for a moment. His eyes followed Hunk’s gesturing to where a clearing had been made through two of the tall, iron bars, just enough thorning vines cut away to allow safe passage for a tiny pair of feet to kick their way through the settled dust. 

Lance nodded. Hunk looked around, growing frantic. 

“There's no way we can fit through here. I mean, maybe you can, but then I'll be stuck out here, and I don't think we can trip that lock even if one of us is inside. What are we gonna do?” He paced as he spoke, only stopping to rock on his heels as he looked between the clearing in the gate and the high, stone walls that surrounded it. After a moment, he looked at Lance with clarity dawning in his eyes, and Lance narrowed his own, all too familiar with that look. 

“Hunk? What're you thinking…”

“It's so simple!” Hunk almost laughed, pulling Lance toward him by the sleeve and pointing at the top of the overgrown garden walls. “We just… pop right over! I'll help you and you help me!” 

If it hadn't been a few hours until daybreak and Lance hadn't been feeling the first hints of his own sleeplessness, he might have had pity on Hunk, and entertained his enthusiasm. As it was, Lance frowned, pushing him away. 

“Are you nuts?! How are we supposed to help each other up and over that? I can't lift…” He stopped short, fearing the effect his words might have if he finished his sentence. Hunk huffed through his nose, crossing his arms tersely over his chest. 

“You can't lift me?” he offered, impatient. “I know that, Lance. I'm probably the only one I know that could lift me, so that's what I'm gonna do. When I get to the top, I'll help you up, okay?” 

Lance blinked back at him, trying to piece together exactly how Hunk was going to lift himself up a wall. His friend didn't wait for his brain to catch up. Hunk moved over to what he seemingly deemed a safe enough spot, grabbed hold of some of the thick vines that snaked up the pale, stone wall, and hoisted himself upward. Lance watched him climb, finally understanding. 

Clearly he needed to sleep. 

Before he knew it Hunk was at the wall’s highest point, bending downward to offer Lance a hand after him. Lance tested the strength of a curtain of vines, took a deep breath and took hold of them, climbing artlessly upward. 

_ Pidge had better be grateful, _ he thought.  _ That, and Hunk had better not mention this awkward climbing fiasco to anyone, ever again.  _

He grabbed Hunk’s hand as soon as his was within reach, and let himself be tugged upward, until they both sat atop the wall’s flat surface, and then jumped over, leaving hesitation behind along with their abandoned common sense.

\--

The garden was truly spectacular, even in the state of disuse and disrepair they found it in. Beautiful statues of handmaidens and servants shined behind uneven patches of vegetation, their gold surfaces made brassy and dull by years of weather, unchecked. Their finely crafted features all spoke of laughter and song, of joy that was familiar on the faces of children in the town. Lance had never seen such happiness in the features of adults before, and he wondered if that glee might have disappeared from Arus along with the royal family. 

Between the dry fountains and the broken benches that lined what had once been the castle courtyard, they came upon something that looked a bit like a grape arbor, only larger. The area around it smelled of weathered wood and sun-dried dirt, despite the cool, damp air. Beneath the dead and gnarled vines that hung down from the arbor, a stone circle sat, lined all around in stubby, dried-up plants. Their thorns were visible from outside the arbor itself, terrifying in their size. Lance squeezed his fingers to his palm on reflex, cringing. 

“Are those rose bushes?” he asked, half wondering to himself, aloud. That was the only thing he'd ever seen that he could compare them to, though roses were a flower rarely grown in the village, anymore. He turned, just to see what Hunk might make of them. 

Hunk was not beside him, though. 

For a moment, Lance's heart leapt into his throat as he looked around for his friend. Frightened and alone, he didn't know who he could even ask for help if something happened to him, or how to get back out of the garden by himself. Swallowing his fear, he called for him, Hunk’s name coming out as more of a yelp. 

“Here!” he heard a voice reply, and he turned on his heel to spot Hunk, crouching near a cracked bench a few yards away. Without hesitation, he dashed toward him. 

“Hunk? Hunk, what are you doing, you've gotta tell me before you just-””

“Look!” Hunk squeaked, and Lance stopped so quickly his legs ached at the strain of it. He looked down to where Hunk’s large hands were dragging across the hard stone, brushing away the settled debris of a decade of varied seasons. Under his hand, large, deep claw marks marred the surface of the rock, and Hunk’s hand trembled above them. They still looked freshly cut, as if nothing had trod upon that stone since they'd been made, and yet years of leaves and dust had covered them before Hunk had unearthed them again. Beside them, not an arm’s width away, something more recent, more familiar caught their eye, rippling in the gentle wind of the evening air. 

A strip of faded, green cloth, torn from a garment. The color was the same that Pidge's tunic dress had been, earlier that day. 

Hunk snatched the fabric up and clasped it in his shaking fist, turning wide and panicked eyes on Lance. 

“Th-th-this is Pidge's,” he stuttered, bringing it up to eyes as if just to be certain. There was no denying it; familiar ink stains dotted the cloth, typical of everything Pidge wore. They looked around quickly, panic audible in the air as Hunk began to gasp for breath. 

“It got her. They got her, Lance,  _ something _ got Pidge!” 

“No,” Lance said firmly, although he wasn't sure he believed it, himself. “No, she's here. Somewhere. She probably just tore her clothes getting through all this.” He gestured around them, at the many thorning bushes and spiky vines that threatened soft skin and loose fabrics. Swallowing, he steeled himself, hoping he sounded convincing. “It wouldn't be the first time. So just. Don't panic, okay?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Hunk nodded too quickly, eyes still darting around the courtyard like he hoped they'd land upon Pidge. Instead, something far beyond them, far above their heads caught his gaze, and his eyes shot open wider than Lance had seen them all night. Following that horrified stare, Lance turned his head with a sharp snap and understood, immediately. 

In a high castle window, floors above where they stood looking up at it - light. Movement.  _ Life. _

Then the window shutters slammed and sleeping birds atop the tower’s roof scattered in every direction. Hunk yelped, reaching out to squeeze Lance's arm. 

“Pidge was right. Pidge was right, and something is in that castle. Something is alive in that castle, and Pidge was right about it, and now she's probably gonna die if it hasn't already stabbed her or shot her or eaten her, Lance, what are wE GOING TO DO?!” 

Hunk’s voice had risen to such a level that Lance was certain they'd be heard, seen and promptly killed, if he didn't stop. Clapping his hand over his friend's mouth, he pulled Hunk after him, hiding them both behind the remains of a massive, broken statue of a former king. Only when he was sure they were out of sight of anything that might have been breathing within the castle did he let go of Hunk's face. 

“Hunk? Hunk! Listen to me,” he hissed, knees aching from crouching at the odd angle he'd taken. “We've gotta come up with some kind of plan or something. Make a decision before we go up there, because you know we're gonna have to.”

Nodding, Hunk was silent. Lance couldn't blame him; his own voice threatened to give out from the force of his rattled nerves, but they had to retrieve their friend. They had to go inside the castle. 

Peering around from behind the statue they took a moment to study the path between themselves and the entryway into the main building, blocked entirely by a raised drawbridge over a wide, deep moat, and covered in thorny, overgrown brambles. In the darkness he couldn't be sure if the moat still existed, but the toss of a rock confirmed that there was either still water standing in the canyon, or it was so deep that the stone’s fall couldn't be heard. It was a lot to think about overcoming, just to get at a locked door. 

Then Lance looked just above it all, and saw their way inside. 

“Look,” he pointed, indicating a narrow, ladder-like set of uneven stones laid into the wall, their steep edges worn away by the weather and covered in the same thorny vines that wrapped around the bridge. He didn't let his own fear of them show in his voice “There's our way in. If we can get up those, we won't even have to worry about the bridge. Just pop right over again, you know? Then it's just a matter of, you know, breaking a massive door down. Or something.” 

“Leave that to me,” Hunk said resolutely. Lance didn't bother with argument or doubt, but rather nodded his encouragement, took Hunk by the sleeve again, and took off toward the wall, ready to climb.

\--

In the span of not more than two hours that night, Lance had broken his mother's rules and betrayed her trust leaving the house unannounced and by night, let himself be led willingly into danger and realized he very likely wouldn't make it home alive, if there was indeed some evil entity within the Castle of Lions. 

He had also learned that his best friend Hunk was a very gifted climber, with a great deal of knowledge about cutting vines with nothing more than a stick, and at protecting hands from dangerous thorns. It had been an eventful evening. 

“Okay, just stand back, alright?” Hunk warned, eyeing the heavy, wooden door that stood between them and the interior of the castle. It was closed, still locked in fact, and it made Lance wonder how Pidge would have gotten inside, if indeed that's where she was. Hunk didn't pause for thought, though. He was too busy squaring off his shoulders as he calculated the force he would need to take the door down. 

“It's weakest right there behind the locking bar,” he said, quite sure of himself. “If you can get the bar up and hold it back, I can probably break through it. Okay?” 

Lance nodded, still not entirely convinced of the plan’s validity. “Okay, big guy. Let's do this quick, because you know whatever's inside is gonna hear us coming.” 

“Let's,” Hunk agreed, and dug one foot into the ground, preparing to run. “On three, lift the bar, okay? One. Two. Three!” 

Hunk ran forward, full tilt, with one shoulder leaned harder at the door as Lance put all of his strength into hoisting the heavy, metal locking bar upward. With it moved, he let it swing back the other direction, catching it there as Hunk’s side met the wood, splintering it with a loud crack. The door still stood, but Hunk did not. He backed away a few inches, then a few feet and took another run, hammering into the wood again. Twice more he did this, and finally the split he'd worked into it gave way, and the entire door buckled and broke apart, flying off its hinge. 

Gasping for breath and pouring sweat as he rested on his hands and knees, Hunk dragged his sleeve across his face and nodded. Lance stared at him, then into the darkness Hunk’s force had gained them access to. 

“They really missed out not having you on a whaling vessel or something, friend,” he said, offering a hand to help Hunk to his feet. Hunk took it, stood, and gulped in a deep breath, shaking his head. 

“They like my cakes too much,” he shrugged, winded. “Now. Let's go find Pidge, get out of here and get back home quick, and never leave town again.” 

“Almost inclined to agree with you, there,” Lance admitted. 

They stepped carefully over and around the debris of what had been the door, and quietly made their way into the unlit and unknown. 

\--

The castle foyer was large and dark. High windows let in the soft, purple light of the fading night through moth-eaten silk draperies, but otherwise, they walked in blackness. Feeling his way along a wall, Lance cringed. 

Nothing looked to have been touched in years. The statues that lined the wall wore a thick coating of dust, as did every table and bench upon which Lance imagined the people of the royal court sitting, years before. The musty scent that hung in the air called to mind abandoned mills and grain houses Lance had explored with his brothers as a child, not the regal estate of a king and queen. It was as if the room had lain undisturbed since the royal family had vanished, with no one moving inside or out, after. 

He and Hunk knew better, though. They'd seen someone - something - in the window of an upstairs floor. More importantly, they had reason to believe their friend was inside the castle somewhere as well, and when Lance caught sight of broken glass, glimmering in the muted light of the window it had fallen from, he believed all the more strongly. 

“She broke through that window to get in,” he breathed, pointing Hunk toward the pile of shattered glass. “I'll bet you anything. We know she didn't walk in through the door.” 

“I hope she's not hurt,” Hunk muttered, pinching at the loose fabric of Lance's shirt to keep the two of them close in the darkness. “She wouldn't stop whatever she's doing, even if she was.”

Lance nodded. His eyes hurt from a mixture of exhaustion and worry. “That's why we've got to find her, talk some sense into her, and then forcibly drag her out of here when that inevitably doesn't work.” 

Hunk was silent in response for a few long moments as they tiptoed their way carefully toward the back of the gigantic room. A long and unlit hallway seemed the only inward exit from the foyer, without going upstairs. As long as they could avoid that, Lance wagered, they'd be safer. Truly though, he had no idea what they might be walking into, and only hoped his mother wouldn't worry too much when she awoke without him, that morning. 

“I just want her to be okay,” Hunk whispered finally, more to himself than to be heard. Lance nodded, though. He wanted that, too. He wanted all of them to be okay, and to be back in the safety of Arus when the sun rose, back to wishing for adventure instead of facing the unknown. 

Maybe he would learn something from the evening, assuming he survived it. His first priority though, was Pidge. Once they found her, he'd let himself worry about the rest.

A loud and sudden  _ crack _ shook Lance from his thoughts, and he bit down hard on his lip to keep from screaming in response. Hunk was not so present of mind. With a wailing yelp of a cry, he clutched Lance around the middle, pulling them both backward, freezing where he stood. 

In the corner of the room, barely discernible in the muted moonlight filtering through dusty windows, was something moving. Something that looked very much like a broom with no attendant. Lance craned his neck, leaning away from Hunk as far as possible to get a better view. The broom went about its business, sweeping haphazardly, until it appeared to trip over something and slapped down against the stone floor with another, resounding crack. 

Too puzzled to be frightened, Lance almost felt the urge to laugh. Hunk was still clinging to his waist, though, and wouldn't let Lance disregard the madness of what they were seeing. 

“That broom is moving,” he hissed. “It's moving and there's no one there, Lance. There's no one there!” 

“I see that!” Lance snapped, whispering as best he could. Still, the broom seemed to hear them somehow, and rattled back upright, scurrying out of the room and banging against things as it went. 

Before he could think about it for even a second, Lance was moving to follow it. 

“Are you running after that thing?!” Hunk demanded, voice still hushed and tight. Lance wheeled around to face him, nodding. 

“You got a better idea? Maybe it'll lead us to who or whatever took Pidge. I'd rather just fistfight some monster and get it over with than bump around in a dark room all night. Now you coming, or not?” 

It wasn't really a question. Lance already knew the answer. At mention of Pidge's name - a reminder of the whole reason they'd come, in the first place - Hunk sucked in a deep breath, drew himself up a bit taller and nodded, following Lance and the seemingly bewitched broom. 

\--

Looking for the path the broom might have taken, Lance was hit with the reality of his evening. Rather than dreaming, he had spent the whole of his night in what might as well have been a dream, as bizarre as all of it had been. It only seemed to be getting stranger as they walked, too, as dim and dreary surroundings became softly lit, light spilling from beneath doors and over dividers to cast a growing warmth over all that it touched. 

It was as if the castle had a living heart, and they were walking into it as they tiptoed after a mindless, masterless broom. 

Though the broom was out of sight most of the time, Lance and Hunk could hear the swishing of its bristles over the smooth stone floors, occasionally knocking against the walls and clacking in corners. When they could finally see the broom again, it was sweeping steadily down the hall, apparently having forgotten them entirely, moving toward what must have been the source of the glow that was seeping out into the outer halls and rooms. With more visible at every turn, Lance could make out grand decor, stairways with marble inlay and giant portraits framed in what might have been solid gold. His throat felt as if it had twisted into a knot when he looked closer at one of them; the heavy, painted canvas was ripped from corner to corner, four slashes cut like claw marks through its surface.

He swallowed hard and turned his attention back to the broom.

It was sweeping in circles by then, like Lance's mother always did when she was gathering collected dust for disposal. The rhythmic push and pull of the broom head against the floor was almost soothing in that way, so common to his ears. Something else was echoing off the wide, high walls of the hallway, though, something without such steady cadence. Coming to a halt to listen, Lance felt every hair on the backs of his arms and neck raise; beyond the quiet sweeping, he could hear voices. 

"Did you hear that?" Hunk squeaked. His large hand clenched Lance's arm so tightly Lance almost cried out, and might have if he weren't so breathless from the sound of muffled chattering coming from just around the corner. He nodded, a small, tight movement, as if whoever was speaking beyond the nearby walls might hear it.

Swallowing hard, he let Hunk hang onto his arm and pulled his friend after him, edging along the wall toward the large, closed door the broom had come to stand in front of. Before he could get close enough to touch the broom itself, though, the door opened, creaking loudly as it did. The voices were suddenly louder, clearer, and Lance was certain he recognized one, among them.

A shriek rang out from among the clutter of sound, followed by laughter from the unfamiliar crowd of voices, and Lance felt his stomach drop at the sound of it.

Pidge.

Without hesitation, he yanked Hunk's arm, the two of them nearly shoulder to shoulder as they sprinted toward the open door before it had the chance to close.

Sliding across the floor, arms still linked, they all but slammed into a long, grand dining table that sat at the room's center. There, seated at the far end and all alone was Pidge, the echo of a smile on her face as she looked up at them, startled. She was unharmed, seemingly unbothered by her surroundings, and very much alive.

When her brain seemed to catch up with her eyes, her smile returned and she moved to her feet, knocking a collection of items arranged on the table in every direction as she stood. To Lance's surprise - though it was much less of one than it might have been, just a few hours before - the objects moved back into place of their own volition.

"Hunk! Lance!" Pidge called, grinning. She bounded over to them, and Lance caught sight of the torn hem of her tunic just before she toppled him backward into Hunk. He exhaled a breath he felt like he'd been holding for hours; she was okay. They weren't too late. 

"You guys saved me so much trouble, I've got so much to tell you! Still, though-" Pidge huffed, frowning dramatically, an entirely unbelievable expression when weighed against her previous wide, toothy grin - "My note said not to follow me. You guys are terrible listeners."

"We thought you died!" Hunk blurted out, sounding like he might be on the verge of tears. Lance pried himself away from Hunk and rubbed at his sore arm, shaking his head. Still, he couldn't act like he hadn't been worried as well.

"We were worried about you," he echoed, looking at Pidge with as severe an expression as he could muster. "You know that was a stupid move. You could have gotten hurt, or lost or even killed. It's not an easy walk, getting here."

"I know," Pidge sighed, though she sounded impatient as she looked both Lance and Hunk over. "Are you guys alright? You really shouldn't have come. I mean, I'm glad to see you. And I would have totally brought you back here, if you hadn't followed me. Which honestly? I kind of knew you were going to. But still," she rambled, shaking her head, "You really shouldn't have come."

"But they did," said a man's voice, sounding alarmingly close considering there was no other person in the room, save for the three of them. "Because they're good friends. Fine young men. I'm glad they're looking after you."

Lance exchanged a panicked look with Hunk. Pidge was the only one in the room who did not seem to be alarmed. She rolled her eyes, though there was no harshness behind it, turning to look over her shoulder as she did.

"Yeah, yeah. I think I bragged on them enough before they got here without you inflating their egos, dad."

"Dad?" Lance asked, unable to stop himself laughing a bit as he did. Hunk wore the same perplexed expression, and for a moment Lance wondered if perhaps the journey to the castle had taken its toll on Pidge. Maybe she had been injured after all, he thought, glancing down at her head to check for a wound. Still, Lance was certain he'd heard the voice speaking to her as well.

As she moved back toward the seat they'd found her in, Lance followed.

"You guys, Hunk, Lance," Pidge said, voice almost vibrating she was so giddy, "This is my dad." She pointed to an ornate, brass oil lamp, sitting at the table’s far end near her empty seat. It was of fine craftsmanship, fashioned to look like a candelabra with three cloth wicks settled inside heavy, glass cups. Lance blinked at it, then back at Pidge, but he couldn't make words quickly enough to beat Hunk to the punch of replying.

"Pidge, that's, uh... That's a lamp," he said. Lance nodded slowly, not sure how to handle a complete delusion when he saw one, and also distantly wondering where the true source of the voice Pidge had been speaking to was hiding. He didn't have long to wonder, though, as the lamp standing atop the table in front of them moved, and a face appeared, as clear as anything Lance had ever seen on the largest glass bulb at its center.

"We've been acquainted before, of course, but it's so good to see you both. Hunk, Lance." The lamp made a bow, as deep and formal as his strange little body would allow, one shiny, metal arm tucked beneath his midsection, and Lance yelped before he could stop himself, genuinely alarmed.

"M-Mr. Holt?" he stammered.  _ "Samuel?!" _

The lamp clapped - or least Lance figured that was what it was doing - and smiled, chuckling in the same familiar voice. It  _ was _ starting to sound distantly familiar, he thought.

"At your service," the lamp laughed, and Lance was suddenly saddled with the realization that in whatever his reality had become, he was supposed to accept that this oil lamp was his best friend's long-missing father. He nodded again, slowly letting that fact sink in.

"Uh-huh. Okay. Right. You're. Wow." He couldn't finish a sentence, but it didn't really matter; Pidge was already motioning toward the rest of the menagerie of items strewn across the table.

"My brother's here, too! Matt!" She waved her hand over the table excitedly, stilling it to allow a moving feather pen to settle on the back of it. Without pausing to allow Lance to retrieve his jaw from the floor, Pidge turned and proudly displayed the enchanted quill upon her hand. She grinned. "You guys remember Matt, right?"

The feather fluttered, the tip of its tuft waving to greet them. "Hello, Lance. Hunk."

"Matthew?" Lance and Hunk asked in unison, and Lance began to wonder if his night hadn't just been a dream, if he might wake up at any moment from all of the strangeness in front of him.

It didn't seem likely. The feather pen moved closer, flying through the air to land on Lance's crossed arms, and only then did Lance see a face outlined amongst the silky threads that made up its softness, tinier even than the lamp claiming to be Samuel Holt. Now Pidge also had a feather pen for a brother. Lance pursed his lips, laboring to wrap his mind around everything he'd just been handed.

"Okay, so... You're Matt. Like Pidge's brother, who disappeared from Arus like a decade ago, who worked for the royal family in the castle, Matt." He asked all of this of the feather, which promptly replied with an affirmative.

"Yes," he said, voice as audible as Lance's own, despite his miniscule size. "What's the matter? Need proof?"

Lance felt a surge of nostalgic fondness for the cheeky little character he spoke to, and took a moment to consider the challenge. Matt Holt had always been the type to make things a game, as quick-witted as Pidge and nearly as spirited. Lance grinned, despite himself. "Okay. What's your mom's name?"

"Kathleen," the quill said, quite sure of himself. He was right. Lance nodded.

"Okay, what's your sister's real name?"

"Easy. She's named after my mother, but we call her Katie for short." The tiny face of the feather fluttered into a confident little smirk, adding, "And you two call her Pidge, like my dad always did, because she's no bigger than a street pigeon!"

"Hey!" Pidge called, and suddenly Lance couldn't deny their relationship to one another any longer. The little quill resting on his arm was definitely Pidge's older brother, the lamp truly was her kindly father, and Lance himself might have believed anything else they told him then, because even the most implausible of circumstances was playing out right in front of him.

Still, he had one question, and Hunk looked far too shell-shocked to voice it for him.

"Okay, but... How?"

"Oh that is a good story!" another voice chimed in, and Pidge turned back to look at the table, drawing Lance's eyes after hers. When a teapot hopped cheerfully toward him, tea sloshing over its edges as it moved, he wasn't even really surprised.

"Why don't you lads take a seat and have a cup of tea? We can tell you the whole tale, of the wandering witch and the curse she put on us all, as well as the horrendous night that we all-"

"Why don't we let them catch their breath, first?" Samuel suggested, his light softer than it had been moments before. "I wager this is a lot for all of them, so suddenly."

"Y-You can say that again," Hunk finally said, and Lance hummed in agreement.

The teapot whistled in concession, summoning four small, colorful tea cups from across the table. Three of them settled in front of empty seats, one where Pidge was seated and the other two before chairs that seemed to beckon to Hunk and Lance. The heavy chairs moved themselves away from the table as the teapot dispensed tea into each of them.

“It's been quite a while since I've had to ask anyone, but - one lump or two, lads?” 

Lance held up two fingers automatically, watching Pidge cheerfully take her seat while Hunk stood by, staring at the one pulled out for him. It was a hesitation Lance could relate to, could feel, heavy on his own chest. He tried not to think too long about the tea being offered to him having been poured from his host’s own head.

The last teacup hopped its way around to each of them, offering cubes of sugar. It all seemed so perfectly planned, so customary and mundane for the magically moving tea set serving them, and it only made the site more unsettling. 

At least they were together, Lance reminded himself silently. They were together, Pidge was okay, and the soft warmth of Samuel Holt's voice made every frightening thing they were probably about the hear a little less horrible to think about. 

“Sit down, young men,” he said, brightening to light the whole of the table. It was a request, an invitation rather than a demand, and it was an oddly comforting thing in the midst of so much strangeness. “Ours is a story best told over dinner.” 

\--

 

The tea they sipped as they sat together at the large dining table was warm and fragrant, its floral flavor a sweet respite from the spiral of surreality they were lost in. The charming service of the enchanted dishes was disarmingly sweet, making it all too easy to forget just how peculiar it all was. Lance held his cup gingerly, a little offput by the fact that it was seemingly alive. Still, it seemed pleased when he sighed contentedly at the taste of the tea.

Drinks were followed by dinner, a modest but delicious meal of hearty vegetable soup that had Hunk asking where they found the supplies for something so scrumptious. The teapot beamed as he informed them all that the castle had a lovely garden, and Lance and Hunk exchanged a look that silently wondered where exactly it was kept, considering the entire courtyard was a virtual cemetery. They said nothing aloud, though, electing to let their hosts do the talking. 

As Samuel and the teapot took turns telling tales of the ten years they'd spent as enchanted objects, Lance let his eyes search the lot of them. It was strange how much life they exuded, how much spirit shined from faces cast from metal and glass. The room was lit by candles that lacked the same movement as Samuel, but his light - changing in spells to match the emotions evident on his small, brass face - was what kept the story moving, and the room glowing at all but its furthest corners.

Matt sat by with Pidge as their father and the teapot gave more details of their strange, enchanted lives. Interjecting every so often in a sharp, feminine voice reminiscent of a chiming bell was a beautifully decorated clock, crafted of dark wood with a bright, pearlescent face. It told Lance, Hunk and Pidge about a wicked witch, the source of the curse that had made all of them into what they were. Before her arrival, they had all been castle attendants, servants of the royals, the clock told them. At every mention of the sorceress and the night she'd robbed them of their humanity, the other objects shuddered and frowned. 

“So you've all just… been this way for ten years?” 

It was a question Lance could hardly speak, it seemed so absurd. Of course they had, if that's what the attendants were telling them. Surely they had no reason to lie. Still, it was so outlandish an idea, he doubted he could have believed it without laying his own eyes upon them. 

The clock chuckled, walking its -  _ her _ \- way over to where he sat. “Don't believe us?” she asked, the hands of her timepiece moving as if to gesture. The curvature of her wide base led into stunted, ornately carved wooden legs, and she walked with an exaggerated little sway that set her pendulum rocking. “If anyone would love for this to be a fancy dress party, it would be me. I was only eleven the night that evil woman came here. I've missed my whole life!” 

“A life is more than your adolescence, Allura,” insisted the teapot, clucking at her like a father might at his surly child. The reply seemed to spark a realization in Pidge, who had spent the whole of her time focused solely on her father and brother. She leaned forward, catching her chin in her open palms as she addressed the teapot and clock. 

“I never thought to ask you your names,” she said. She pointed to the clock. “You're Allura - that's nice - what about the rest of you?” The teapot hopped in place, chirping cheerfully. 

“I am Coran, royal entertainer and castle attendant for thirty years. Though I suppose it's forty, now…” He trailed off, the tea he held bubbling as he lost himself to thought. A second later, he remembered the teacups twittering around him and rattled off names for them, as well. “These little ones are Platt, Chulatt, Plachu and Chuchule. We were all servants to the crown before the curse fell on the castle. Though I suppose you could still call us a service set.” 

A few feet away, Allura groaned. Lance couldn't help snorting. 

“You two remind me of me and my dad,” he said to her. “Is Coran yours?” 

“No,” Allura replied, suddenly sounding sad. “My… My father was killed by the woman who cursed us. Coran is my step-father, I suppose you could say - my father's partner.” 

“Alfor was a good man, the right hand messenger of the king, himself,” Coran told them proudly. “I am honored to have survived him, but every day I wished I hadn't. Still, someone had to look after Allura.” His tone was fond, all at once sweet and sad. It pulled at something in Lance's chest as he watched Coran and Allura exchange an expression of love and loss. 

“I'm sorry,” Pidge said to both of them, glancing over at her own little family. Lance moved to lay a hand on her shoulder, giving Allura and Coran the same sullen, sympathetic look Pidge was. 

“So your father served the king too, then,” he said, making sure he understood. “Was - were the king and queen killed, too?” 

“Yes,” Coran said sharply, shuddering. “The witch murdered them both, right in front of us. All of us were there. There was nothing we could do to stop her. Alfor lost his life, trying.” The little teacups shivered behind him, and he looked over to Allura, his shiny, porcelain eyes sad as he spoke. “It was a horrible night for all of us.”

“They had a son,” Pidge said, a statement rather than a question. “The prince. Was he killed, too?” 

Samuel’s light flickered, his shiny little features tightening into a grimace as he shot a look toward his son before answering Pidge. “Well, no. He was spared, strictly speaking. He… He suffered something that I often think might have been worse than death.” 

“He was tortured?” Hunk gasped, leaning closer to where Samuel was standing atop the table. Matt flew between them, as if Hunk might hurt his father, though he'd given them no reason to believe as much. 

“No,” he said, voice wavering, “Not exactly, no. But he… We really shouldn't sit around talking about it. About him.” With that, Matt turned to fix a sharp look on his father. “You know how he'd feel about it. Who knows what he'll do?!” 

“Do?” Lance asked, speaking over Pidge as she began to ask the same question. “You mean he - he's still--”

“Alive?” a new and unfamiliar voice asked, seemingly coming from nowhere at all. Lance, Hunk and Pidge all looked around the room, waiting for yet another enchanted object to show itself, but nothing moved. Nothing, except for the living objects on the table, all suddenly shaken with fear.

“Hello?” Pidge called, unfazed. Her father and brother hissed a warning, but they were drowned out by the sound of the voice as it drew closer. 

“Yes, I'm still alive. If you can call this _ living,” _ the voice said, flat and prickling with the sound of long-smoldering rage. There was a sound like footsteps approaching, strange and unlike that of human feet. Then the shadows at the room’s edge shifted, and a dark, hidden figure stepped into the light. “And if all of you don't leave this place now, you will wish upon every star in the sky that I was not.”

The cloak of black that covered the stranger fell away from his head then, and Lance was nearly knocked breathless by the sight of him. Piercing, golden eyes were narrowed beneath a fearsome brow, crowned with short, twisted horns. The creature’s face was a deep shade of violet, almost the color of spilt ink, as the short fur covering that face melded into longer, darker hair on his head and neck. His mouth curled into a fearsome snarl, large, sharp teeth showing at the corners, terrifying even from a distance. Clawed hands were clasped over crossed arms as the being stared at them, anger pouring off of him like steam rolling from a bubbling pot. 

He growled, seeming to look directly at Lance as he did so. 

“Get out.  _ Now.” _


	4. Both a Little Scared...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... neither one prepared...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends!
> 
> I'm so sorry for the massive delay on updating this au. I promise to try to get chapters out quicker in the coming months. Between a new job and a brain tumor diagnosis, this summer has been a bit of a wash for me creatively, but I'm back (on my bullshit, amirite)!
> 
> ANYWAY, hope you guys will enjoy this update, and please let me know what you think! More coming soon!
> 
> \--

Lance choked on air. He attempted to both draw a breath and swallow the sudden dryness in his throat at once, leaving him stifling a cough as he held tight to his chair. No one moved for a moment; the room fell silent, save for the audible breathing of the monster that had just appeared.

It drew a loud breath and roared in their direction.

“Go!”

Lance winced at the sound of the beast’s voice, then immediately put his feet to the ground. They slipped and slid as his nerves got the better of him, and he managed only to scoot his chair back a few inches before the creature growled again.

“I said leave. Now!”

“Wait!” Pidge shouted in reply, and every eye in the room landed on her face. There was no fear there, and Lance swore his was doubled at the very sight of her looking back at the beast defiantly. When no one spoke after her, she looked directly at the monster and kept talking.

“Are you the prince?” she asked, and Lance could feel his stomach drop at the notion. “Are you the son of the king and queen of Arus?”

The beast did not seem keen on conversing with her. He bared his teeth once more, drawing his cloak over his shoulders. The movement of the fabric gave a glimpse of a chainmail vest and a large, decorated sword sheath fixed to his hip. As if his blade-like claws weren't enough...

“Who and what I am is no concern of yours, little thing,” he said. There was something other than anger in his voice, but Lance couldn't identify it. The creature looked between him and his friends and the doors through which they had come. “All you need concern yourself with is departing from my castle. Before I force you to.”

Finally finding his footing, Lance scrambled from his chair and Hunk mirrored him, each ready to grab Pidge by a sleeve and run for the doors. Pidge seemed to have other ideas, though. As her friends moved toward her, she smacked them both away and frowned.

“I'm not leaving,” she said, defiant even as the large chair she sat in swallowed her tiny figure. The monster turned to fix her with a look that rode the border of panic and rage, but she did not waver in her determination. Even as her brother and father gave her matching looks of surprise and terror, she shook her head.

“I’ve spent all this time, come all this way - I won't just turn around.” Pidge’s breathing was heavy and harsh, begging for a fight Lance knew she could never win against the monster. His stomach twisted at the thought of something happening to her. He and Hunk had taken her note with them in order to find her; if the beast killed them, no one would ever know where they had gone and why. They would simply disappear, leaving a village of broken-hearted loved ones behind.

Lance grimaced; he had wanted adventure, not the threat of death. He needed to get them back home - all of them - and they would have to live through this confrontation to make it there.

Pidge was decidedly not helping. She continued shouting her arguments at the monster, even as it moved slowly nearer to where they sat. “You can't scare me away. You don't scare any of us.”

“Speak for yourself,” Hunk muttered from beside her. She ignored him. The monster did not ignore her.

“You foolish child,” he growled, stalking across the room toward them. His movements were uncertain, but it only served to make him more frightening. “Do you… Do you think this is a game? Do you think me a jester?! I will show you what it is to be frightened if you do not leave my sight!”

“You won't t-touch her!” Hunk spat, suddenly far less afraid. “I’ll… I'll break you in half, you overgrown bat!”

Before Lance could process what was happening, the beast was all but running toward them, clawed hands appearing from beneath his cape. The fact that he wore a sword did not seem to occur to him; rather, whatever he was intent upon doing, he would do with those fearsome hands. Lance did not consciously choose to react; there was not time to make any kind of choice. Rather, he found himself moving to his feet and standing in the monster’s way - protecting Hunk, Pidge and the others with his own body - before he could so much as have a coherent thought.

Behind him, gasps of the same title and name bubbled like a boiling pot as the collection of enchanted dishes and housewares called out to the beast. All of them called the monster “Keith”, some referring to him as “prince”, as well. Their whispers all seemed to beg him not to act, though no one moved to challenge him directly. Despite notable unrest at his rage, it was almost as if the objects were unafraid of his actions - like they doubted he would truly harm his intruders.

It was too much for Lance to process at the moment, but at least he had a name to put with this terrifying face.

_Keith._

Still frozen with fear despite his automatic response, Lance breathed in shallow huffs, waiting on Keith's next move. His defiance seemed to have changed something in the monster, though, as Keith's obvious frenzy melted from his fearsome features.

“I didn't… I will not harm you,” Keith said, looking Lance over. There was something akin to astonishment in his eyes and his large, cat-like ears fell slightly. It was an unguarded look that didn't sit right with his features and it was gone in a blink, leaving Lance squinting after it. Keith stepped backward, drawing himself upward and back into the dark cloak he wore, still looking a measure less terrifying than he had a moment before. “But I insist that you leave at once. All of you. You… You aren't welcome here.”

Lance nodded, somewhat numbly. He brushed at his chest and arms, just to ensure he had not been hurt in any way. The shock he still felt might have kept him from feeling the piercing of his flesh by Keith's razor-like claws, but a quick once-over told him that he was still very much intact. He had every intention of keeping himself that way.

Turning to the others, he wordlessly motioned toward the room’s large doors.

“I'm not going,” Pidge said again, shaking her head. She had not even moved to stand. “I've spent the last ten years believing that my father and my brother were gone forever. I've finally found them; you can't honestly expect me to just leave.”

“I'm not saying we can't come back for a visit,” Lance said quickly. “You know I love a good adventure. I just don't want to--”

“No! No one will be visiting here, ever again,” Keith interjected. His voice had begun to shift toward something resembling fear but had not lost its rough edge. Lance sucked in a sharp breath, turning back to Pidge. Her expression had not softened.

“I'm not going anywhere, Lance.” She put a hand on her father and another out to give her brother a place to perch as if to demonstrate her reasoning. Hunk cleared his throat, moving to stand beside her.

“If Pidge stays, I stay with her,” he said. Lance groaned.

“Why can't we just bring your family with us?” he offered, already moving toward the Holts to scoop them up. “They're small, I'm sure we can carry them.”

“You can't remove anything from this castle,” Keith growled, a hand moving swiftly to the sheathed sword at his hip. The sudden reminder of his fearsome presence startled Lance backward, prompting an enchanted chair to catch him before he could hit the floor. Clutching it to brace himself, he snapped back at the monstrous prince.

“Why not?! You're not using them - they're not yours to use. They're not yours to keep!”

“It is not him who has made it so,” said Samuel, loud enough to break apart the escalating scene between them. Lance turned to face him, to see where he was looking between Lance and Pidge as he spoke.

“When we were cursed it was not meant to harm only one of us, but all. The royal family and all of their attendants, all who were most loyal to the crown. We are to spend our lives here in the castle, and should we try to escape or be removed, we will cease to be anything more than the objects we resemble.”

Pidge sat up straighter, the color draining visibly from her face. “You… How do you know?”

“There were more of us, once,” Allura cut in. She looked around at the other objects, still cowering together on the table. “Several left to try and find help. They never made it beyond the gardens.”

Lance recalled the broken pieces of common items that littered the courtyard and gardens outside the castle, suddenly struck with the realization that they had not been strewn there on accident. He swallowed audibly, his breath shaking as he looked back at Hunk and Pidge.

“That is… This is insane. We have to leave, you two. We've got to get out of here. Now.”

“I will not,” Pidge argued, slamming a hand down on the table in front of her. Again, her father and brother looked at her with a mixture of astonishment and horror at her resolve. Lance inhaled sharply, bracing himself for a fight with her.

“Fine, then I'm going alone. If you two won't come with me, I'll leave you here to play tea party.”

To his surprise, Pidge glared at him for only a moment before her face softened, and an almost sad expression settled there. “Tell my mother, then,” she said. “Tell her where I am, and that I'm not coming back. When she's ready, bring her here to see them, too.”

“No!” shouted Keith, his clawed hand digging into the stone wall beside him. “No one else will be brought here. You three were never supposed to be here. You need to leave and never return. I… I will not ask you again.”

“Why do you not understand me?!” Pidge demanded. Finally, she moved to her feet, the chair loudly scratching the floor as it was shoved backward. “I'm not going! This is my family! I haven't seen them in a decade, since I was a tiny child! How can you not understand the loss I hav--”

“Understand your loss?!” Keith snapped, snarling the words like they were a curse. He pulled the long, ornate sword from its sheath, stopping short of pointing it in her direction. Instead, he clutched the handle like a lifeline, as if it was the only thing keeping him from shaking apart as he shouted. “Child, you do not _know_ loss. You cannot know the pain I have endured, the guilt and shame and terror I live with at the work of the witch who cursed my home and family. Until you have lived my life these ten long and horrid years, you have no right to speak to me about loss.”

A heavy silence fell at once. Lance found himself barely able to draw a breath as he willed himself not to move, unsure of what might happen next. Keith's teeth were bared, long and sharp like those of a wolf or a wild cat. His wild eyes glowed in the room's light, and he looked like another word against him might revoke his promise not to harm them. Lance prayed Pidge would not antagonize him further; when she swallowed audibly and drew a shaky breath, he prayed harder.

“You're right,” she said finally. Her voice was quiet, without a trace of the stubborn, defiant venom it had dripped with moments before. She looked at Keith without fear, but also without anger. “I don't know what you've been through. I can't understand you, and I won't pretend to. But I know what I have been through. And this…” She ran a hand over her father's shining golden base, let her brother’s silky plume flutter through her fingers and smiled, soft and sad. “This is my family. I… I can't leave them. Even if it means I have to stay here forever. I can't go.”

Another long, silent moment passed then, but this one was different. Gone was the tension that had filled the room, leaving nothing but a dull, aching sadness in its wake. Lance didn't understand it; he had no reason to feel the grief that the others clearly did, but it settled on his shoulders just the same. Across the room, Keith closed his eyes for a moment, opening them as he exhaled, slow and steady.

“You may stay,” he told Pidge. His grip on the sword in his hand loosened, letting it slip slightly. He dragged his thumb across a deep groove in its blade, undoubtedly damage from a battle Lance was thankful he had not witnessed. Keith returned it in a single, smooth move to its sheath. He looked at Hunk then, and finally to Lance. “I will not be responsible for your care, and all of you are to stay out of my way,” he said sternly. “But I will not be the cause of any further suffering.”

“Thank you,” Pidge said. Keith did not answer, but Pidge didn't wait for him to. She returned her gaze to her tiny family, smiling more brightly this time. Lance exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding as the darkness in the room seemed to lift. With a full day and night behind him - and more than his mind could possibly process, on no sleep in that time - his thoughts turned to home and his own, comfortable bed.

He looked at his friends, knowing already that Pidge was determined not to leave with him.

“Hunk?”

Even from the distance they stood apart, Lance could see the conflict in Hunk’s face as he looked between Lance and the door. If anyone else had been involved, he likely would have joined Lance in running as quickly as their legs could carry them from the castle. With Pidge present, however, things were different. Hunk shook his head, an arm laid across the back of the chair behind Pidge.

“I told you, Lance. If she stays, I stay.”

Lance twisted fingers in his own hair, trying to hold back the urge to shout at his friends and knowing full-well that it would do no good if he did. They were resolved and he was stuck. If he stayed, he would have to continue facing the reality of… whatever the hell he was experiencing. With things seeming darker and more dangerous by the moment, it wasn't an idea he relished. However, if he left, he knew the burden of his friends’ disappearance would be on his shoulders. By now his mother, Pidge’s mother and Hunk’s father would all be waking for the day, finding their children gone. If Lance alone returned, he would have to answer for the lot of them - as well as deal with the repercussions of bringing them all back to the castle and contending with an angry man-beast.

Not to mention he had endured more than his fill of the back-and-forth between that beast and Pidge. Sighing, he dragged a hand down the length of his face, defeated.

“Alright, alright. Fine. We can stay at the big, scary castle for a night or two. But I'm not giving up on convincing you two to leave with me.”

Pidge dismissed him, and though Hunk looked torn, he seemed glad for Lance’s compromise. Lance was far less sure of his decision, but it seemed that Keith shared his lack of enthusiasm over their stay. Lance glanced his way, swallowing the urge the shudder at the sight of the creature's inhuman, golden eyes drawn down as he looked them all over, disgruntled. Not a moment later, he turned to leave the room with an aggressive flourish of his cloak and no further word to any of them.

At least it would be easy to avoid him, Lance thought. If their unwilling host was so eager to keep his distance, keeping theirs, in turn, wouldn't be hard.

Lance tried not to watch the monstrous prince as he departed the group's presence, but something about Keith drew his eye all the same. He did not walk in a logical pattern, straight toward the nearest door. Rather, he disappeared into the room’s shadows, unable to be seen once he became one with the darkness there. It was as if he had never been in the room with them at all, save for the obvious damage to the wall he had left in his wake. That, and Lance still recovering from his appearance.

The chatter behind him helped Lance return to the moment.

“You really mustn't stay too long, Katie,” Samuel warned his daughter. “The prince’s hospitality is not the only issue at hand.”

“Maybe not, but it's a pretty major one,” Hunk chuckled, still clearly shaken. Pidge cast him a smile and prodded him in the ribs, all at once playful and reassuring.

“Look, whatever else we need to talk about, we can do it later,” she decided for all of them. “I just wanna spend time with you two, and-” she stretched where she stood, yawning - “and maybe take a short nap.”

“I think a considerable rest should be your priority. We can find you an empty bedroom,” said Samuel. “Don't worry though, dear. Your brother and I will be close by while you sleep.”

Pidge sighed, smiling with a peace Lance had not known from her since their childhood. “You have no idea how good that sounds, father.” With that, the Holts moved from their place at the table and headed for the room’s inner doors.

Lance watched them leave together, joy in his heart at the sight amidst the night’s confusion and fear. As peculiar as the events of the evening had been, he had never seen his friend so content, so fulfilled as she appeared then, laughing and talking to a lantern and a quill. He shook his head, rejecting his need to make sense of it all. For the moment, that sense of pleasant peace was all that mattered.

Hunk looked to be watching the Holts as well. When they'd gone, he stood looking at the empty doorway, hands wringing in front of him. Before Lance could step forward to offer comfort and companionship, Allura did so instead.

“I'm certain you could use some sleep as well,” she said pleasantly. Her voice was like the cadence of a clock, soft and soothingly rhythmic. Hunk nodded in reply, smiling; he seemed happy to have a distraction from whatever thoughts he'd been entertaining.

“Oh, uh, yes ma'am. Miss. Allura, ma'am. Yes, I'd love to get some rest.” He faltered with his words, scrubbing hard at his weary eyes. Allura chuckled.

“Follow me then. I've one of the nicest rooms in our castle to offer you.”

Hunk did as he was asked, tossing a last, shaky smile Lance's way before trailing the little clock out of the room. Lance was alone then, the last human being left in the room, a thought that startled him as the reality of his situation washed over him again. He'd agreed to spend at least the next day or so in the not-so-abandoned castle with a dangerous beast and a bunch of magical, talking dishes. His friends got him into such strange spots.

When Coran offered to take him up to a room of his own, he nodded automatically, too tired and overwhelmed to ask or argue anything. Maybe a few hours of sleep would help him clear his head.

\--

The walk to his borrowed room was far longer than it ought to have been.

Lance followed Coran up a dusty, stone staircase that took several turns before they came to the floor the chipper little teapot seemed to have in mind. The castle was truly massive. Its size was almost unfathomable for a simple village boy, but navigating its mysterious halls stoked Lance’s quietly smoldering love of adventure.

So much was foreign despite familiar symbols. As they walked, Coran babbled about the tapestries on the wall, the significance of which were apparently great. Lance heard next to none of it, lost in his own mind and miles from the conversation at hand.

The walls were dark, save for the soft lamplight that magically flickered to life as they walked, and filmed with the same dust that clung to nearly every unused inch of the castle. Lance wondered how much of the space Keith even occupied, given that so much of it looked as if it had been untouched for the decade since his parents had died. The thought of anyone - even a monster like Keith - holed up in a handful of rooms in the empty home of his ruined childhood pulled at Lance's heart. He swallowed the bitterness of the thought and tried to turn his attention back to Coran.

“You'll have to forgive the mess in a few spots,” the teapot chirped. “The, uh… The prince went through a bit of a phase at one point and, well… We haven't had anyone to fill in the cracks in a while.” As he went hopping down the dimly-lit hallway, he seemed in a hurry to get them past the scattered rubble on the floor. Lance let his eyes wander back to the walls to find large sections were broken, shattered from impact or torn through like clawed-up cloth. His throat tightened at the sight, knowing exactly where those deep gashes had come from.

As he followed Coran around a final corner, he thanked whatever god might be listening that his flesh hadn't met the same fate, that night.

“Here we are!” Coran piped, oblivious to Lance’s brewing anxiety. “This is one of our finest rooms. You'll be quite comfortable. I do believe the housekeepers have already prepared everything for you, but should you need anything we are all at your service, no matter the hour!”

“Thank you,” Lance breathed, still mired in the fog of his thoughts. “I'll probably only be here for a day or two, but I appreciate it.”

“Of course, young sir! You are our guest, after all.”

Lance laughed, quiet and tight. “Yeah, I, uh. I just wish we weren't imposing on the crown prince of rage.”

“Oh, I'm sure he's actually quite happy to have you all,” Coran assured him. “He just has a… different way of expressing it.”

Lance nodded. “Like threatening our lives, right.”

Coran laughed like Lance had said something truly amusing, ignoring his fear altogether. “I assure you, he's nowhere near as bad once you've gotten acquainted with him.”

“I'll take your word for it, Coran,” Lance shrugged. He took a seat on the bed he'd been offered and stretched. “For now I think I'm going to take you up on that rest. Wake me up if Hunk finally decides to leave with me or the prince starts thinking about destroying another wing of the castle.”

“I'll certainly do that,” Coran said with a dutiful bounce, and then made his way out the door and clinked down the hall. Lance listened for a moment, just breathing as he tried to take in all that surrounded him.

The room Coran had chosen for him was certainly a bedroom, larger than his own by far but cozy in comparison to the rest of the sprawling, empty castle. Though it had been dusted, candles lit and the bed linens prepared for his stay, the rest of the space looked frozen in time, with cobwebs clinging to things all over the room. There were toys, children's playthings that seemed not to have felt the touch of a child's hands in years. A dresser sat a few feet from the canopy bed he lay on, with an ornate mirror atop it. The reflective surface of the mirror was turned backward, and Lance thought if he weren't so tired he might move to his feet to turn it back around.

It wasn't his place to, though. After all, he was only staying as long as he absolutely had to. Just long enough to convince Hunk and perhaps even Pidge to return home with him, and then he could leave this place and all of its confusing wonders behind him. Still, even as he thought fondly on turning his back on the palace, on Keith and the frightening sights that surrounded him, he couldn't help the flicker of curiosity that burned inside him. He couldn't help wondering what more there was to the story of the eerie castle and its inhabitants, and if he would ever truly know.

He couldn't help wondering about the cursed prince - the beast - lurking somewhere else in that same castle, even as he lay upon the unfamiliar, borrowed bed.

It was lucky for him that his body was so tired after a sleepless night. Otherwise, his restless mind might have kept him up for several more. As it was, Lance let his eyes fall closed just as he sensed the first rays of morning sunlight spilling from behind the bedroom’s drawn curtains. He would figure out just how he felt about everything the following afternoon. For the moment, he was content enough to let the strange world around him fade away for a few hours.

Lance slept, dreaming of rose bushes, mirrors, and faraway lands, painted in hues of gold.


	5. Neither One Prepared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Barely even friends, then somebody bends, unexpectedly..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been away from creative writing for a very long hiatus, but I figured since this story is coming up on its one-year anniversary of being debuted, it was time for an update. Here's hoping I'll get the rest of it posted in much shorter order from here on out!
> 
> Thanks as always for reading and enjoying! Your excited comments are what keeps me going!
> 
> \--

When sunlight eased Lance’s eyes open the following morning, it took several moments for him to come to terms with the fact that he had not simply dreamed everything that had happened the night before.

He was indeed inside a stranger’s bedroom, slipping from under a heavy, ornate set of bed coverings that looked like they might have been embroidered with actual gold. He hadn’t even noticed their intricacy the night before, but then, he had been too tired to take much stock of anything around him.

Moving to his feet, Lance marveled at how foreign the room looked in the morning light. The same dusty furniture and children’s toys sat in place from the night before, but they were all much more real to his eye than they had been by candlelight. Moving closer to examine them, he noticed that the toys had collected dust in deep gashes and gouges that marred their every surface. He swallowed, willing himself not to think of how those slashes had appeared there.

Just as he was about to leave the room and go looking for his friends, Lance was reminded of the backward mirror. He turned a newly-curious eye toward it, giving in to his urge to turn it around. He did so carefully, lifting it gingerly and setting it in place again with the tough he might use on one of his mother’s finest heirlooms. What greeted him when he looked up was startling.

Grooves, like claw marks, were scratched across the surface of the glass. Right where Lance’s face was reflected back to him when he stood upright again, the ghostly image of those slashes lay across his features. It was a terrifying reminder of where he was, and whose company he was in.

He left the room without touching anything else, and with no intention of returning.

—

Moving as silently as he could manage down the poorly-illuminated hallway, Lance could hear talking not far ahead. At first, he hoped it might be Pidge and her family, or perhaps Hunk, but the voice he finally recognized was that of his less-than-hospitable host - and someone else, whom he had never heard before. Lance moved quietly toward the source of the sound.

“I told you. Nothing has changed.” Keith’s voice was as toneless as Lance had known it to be, though without the edge of anger he was accustomed to. He was apparently sitting in his own bedroom, though; what could he have to be angry about, there? The person with whom he spoke had a softer, friendlier-sounding voice.

“You're never going to change anything if you don't let someone in,” that voice replied. Lance crept as close as he dared to Keith’s cracked bedroom door, peering in to see who the voice belonged to. He saw no one.

“You say that all the time.” Keith retorted. He sat, seemingly alone on a perfectly-made bed. His clothes were in the same order they had been the night before. For all Lance could see he had simply been sitting there talking to no one all night, rather than sleeping. Only when Keith turned his head to fix his sight on his unsheathed sword leaning against the foot post of his bed did Lance see that it had been the source of the other voice.

“Because it's true,” the sword said. A face like a human reflection shone from its blade. “You're lucky they didn't all run away after your little show.”

Keith grumbled. “I was hoping they _would.”_

The voice of the sword turned up a bit at that, almost sounding amused. “Were you?”

“Of course I was,” Keith huffed. “I don't want anyone here. You know that.” There was a long silence as if Keith was waiting for the sword to speak again. When it did not, Keith added, “I've got everything I need.”

The sword sighed, a tired sound. “You don't.”

“I _do._ I don't _need_ people from outside. That's how this happened in the first place. If that witch hadn't been allowed into--”

“Not everyone means to do you harm, Keith.”

“The harm is already done. I don't intend to let any further happen.”

“These visitors don't seem the kind,” the sword said, unfazed. “The girl only wanted to see Matthew and her father. Surely you can't blame her for that.”

“I don't blame her for missing her father, I blame her for breaking into my home and bringing her idiot friends along for protection.”

“If she's anything like Matthew she likely didn't ask the others to come at all. Stubborn, the Holts.”

Keith drew a long and shaky breath, nodding. “They're good men. I'm sure the girl will be a good woman, one day.” Another long silence settled between them, as Keith picked up a polished metal hand mirror. He didn’t look into the glass, simply studied the ornately-decorated metal back. “She doesn't belong here. None of them do.”

The sword didn't seem to agree. “Perhaps they're here for a reason.”

“I know exactly why they're here, and so do you, Shiro.”

“I don't mean why they think they're here. I mean what if one of them is meant to--”

Keith growled in interjection. “Oh, don't even start. I'm not interested and I assure you, neither are they.”

“Because…?”

“Well, one of them is Matthew’s little sister. A girl, and little more than a child.”

The sword - Shiro, apparently - hummed, conceding. “Fair enough. What about the others?”

“The big one is clearly besotted with the Holt girl. He's also terrified of me. As they all likely are.”

“As you'd _like_ them to be,” Shiro corrected. “What about the third? The tall boy?”

“He…” Keith hesitated. “He's no more of interest to me than any of you lot,” he said quickly. “Far less, in fact. At least I know you're all good people. I'd sooner hand myself over to one of the feather dusters in the upper floors than look upon him at length.”

“I see,” Shiro said, sounding no more convinced than he had been moments before. “I think he seems rather charming. They all do. It would do you well to get to know them, maybe have a conversation or two with someone from outside the castle walls.”

Lance felt himself nod in agreement with that sentiment, silently offended at Keith’s appraisal of him. Keith seemed predictably less receptive.

“I see no need.”

“I doubt you ever will, Keith.” Shiro bounced closer, nudging the mirror toward Keith again as if urging him to turn it around and look into the glass. “There is an entire world out there, happening without us. Without _you._ You are supposed to rule this land as your parents once ruled, and yet it sits ungoverned and unguided. All because you're too stubborn--”

“I'm not the reason we are like this, Shiro!” Keith growled, dropping the mirror to the ground with pointed purpose. “Do not blame me for this curse.”

“You know I don't,” Shiro said firmly, with all the authority of an older brother. It was a tone with which Lance was quite familiar. “But as long as you are so steadfast in rejecting even those who wander willingly into your presence, you will remain alone.”

“Perhaps that suits me.”

Shiro sighed. “Perhaps. I suppose time will tell.”

“The only thing time will tell is whether or not I put you back into your sheath where you belong.”

At that, Shiro chuckled. “Yes, I suppose that's true as well.”

A comfortable silence fell between the two, then.

Lance backed quietly away from the spot where he had stood, his first priority being silence. He turned over the sword’s words in his mind, wondering more than anything how someone could speak with such fondness and familiarity to a creature like Keith. He knew without question that there was undoubtedly some history between the two that he wasn’t aware of, but he dared not linger any longer where he might be caught trying to overhear what it was.

“Looking for something, young sir?”

“Coran!” Lance yelped at the sight of the chipper little teapot. He tried to act as if he hadn’t just been eavesdropping, in case Keith overheard them talking. “No, I was just… Just looking around, I guess.”

Coran smiled. “There is certainly a great deal to explore, here! First, how about some breakfast with your friends from the village?”

At that, Lance’s stomach growled. He nodded. “That actually sounds great.”

He would put all that he had seen and heard on the back shelf of his mind’s library. For the moment, at least.

\--

“G’morning, Lance!” Hunk chimed from a seat he had already taken at the long, wooden dining table. Pidge was beside him, seated ridiculously close considering how much more table there was to be had. Lance leaned right in between them just to tease them about it as he greeted them.

“Hey, you two. How'd everyone sleep?”

“I barely remember anything after my head hit the pillow,” Hunk said, stretching. “Needed that sleep.”

Pidge raised her hand to one side of her face, rolling her eyes so that only Lance could see her. Lance took care not to change his expression as she mouthed, _‘he got scared and slept on my floor’._ Instead, he nodded and clapped Hunk on the back.

“Likewise. Pidge, you alright?” he asked, finally allowing himself to grin in her direction.

She nodded, biting back a smile. “Fine.” As Coran rounded the table, he filled their cups with piping hot tea, and the chairs scooted themselves toward the table so that breakfast could be served. “Thank you, Coran.”

“My pleasure, miss,” he chirped, ever cheerful. He turned and looked to Lance and Hunk. “Young sirs? Anything for breakfast?”

“So, I take it the prince of foul moods isn't joining us, then?” Lance asked, noticing a distinct lack of brooding, purple monsters in their midst.

“Prince Keith usually takes his meals alone,” Coran replied. “He probably hasn't thought to break that habit. We haven't entertained in quite some time.”

“Or ever, really,” Allura sighed. Lance snorted.

“We once held magnificent banquets in these halls, truly incredible affairs,” Coran contended as if Allura had insulted him personally.

“But it's been rather a long while since all of that,” Samuel reminded him, lighting the table warmly. “And the prince has spent much of his time since then in his own company.” He said the last few words more to Pidge than anyone else, closing ranks to talk to her alone. Lance didn’t begrudge them that; he understood they had years to catch up on.

Lance was prepared to let the conversation end there, but then the chatter he had overheard that morning between Keith and the sword returned to him. Sounding as casual as he could manage, he pressed further with Coran on the topic. “Not surprised the prince isn’t exactly the dinner party type. Although, I did hear him talking to somebody this morning. Shiro?”

“The only one you're likely to hear him speak to, most days,” Coran confirmed, without hesitation. Lance leaned in to show his interest; Coran took the bait.

“Shiro was the prince’s most trusted confidante before we were cursed. They spent much time together as children and Shiro had been appointed to the position of Keith's personal attendant and guard a few months before the king and queen were killed. Now he--”

“He's the sword,” Lance interrupted. He bit his lip, hoping he hadn’t said too much. Coran simply hummed in agreement.

“Indeed. Keith's first and last line of defense, even now.”

“I think it's great that you've all stayed on here, doing your jobs for the prince,” Lance offered. “I mean, all things considered. I probably… definitely wouldn’t have.”

“We haven't had much choice,” Coran replied. Steam escaped him like a sigh. “But given one, I would say that most of us would choose to stay.”

Lance shook his head, taking a drink of his cooling tea. “I can't imagine why.”

\--

“Are we seriously staying here again, tonight?”

That evening, Lance found himself ready to leave again. He had spent the afternoon under the impression that they - or, at least he - would finally be heading home before the sun set that night. But as the light coming in through the windows began to grow soft and weak, Pidge and Hunk seemed ready to settle in again.

“You don't have to,” Pidge said flatly. “I told you, I'm staying with my family. You guys probably ought to head back home.”

“And I told you, I'm not going anywhere until you do,” Hunk reminded her. “I can't stand the thought of something happening to you. I'm staying right here.”

There was a fondness in the look they exchanged then, a sweetness that made Lance feel strangely excluded. He heaved a sigh loud enough to break the bubble his friends seemed to be sharing.

“Well, while you two are planning your wedding, I've got bigger things to worry about.”

Pidge snorted. “You're the only one here who's been proposed to, lately.”

Hunk nodded, waving a finger as if to emphasize a point no one had made. “Yeah. At least while you're here, you can dodge that guy.”

“Okay, but my mom is probably panicking and has also probably already sent for my father,” Lance groaned. “Do you know how much trouble I'll be in?”

“You're an adult, Lance,” Pidge scoffed. “Make your own decisions for once.”

“I do!” Lance snapped. “I did. I came here with Hunk in the middle of the night, despite it being possibly the worst idea he's ever had, and now I'm stuck here until he decides to come back home with me while we wait out your stubbornness in a castle full of… weird, magic, people-furniture!” Gesturing toward the others less than a room away, Lance tried to keep his voice down. It was a seething hiss by the time he caught himself. “So, see? Making my own decisions doesn't always get me someplace I want to be!”

Pidge nodded slowly, unblinking. “Don't you think you're being a bit dramatic?”

At that, Lance bubbled with bitter, biting laughter. “Oho. No. You seriously laid eyes on our ridiculous monster of a host and still have the nerve to call me dramatic?!” 

“You two would be a perfect match,” Hunk chimed in. Lance turned on him with eyes wider than an owl’s.

“What?! I would - I never - no!” He drew himself up taller and hopefully more dignified than he sounded - and felt. “I'd rather be eaten alive by this horrendous, haunted house we're trapped in than be in the same room with him for more than a conversation.”

“You aren't trapped, you know.”

The statement pierced the air, coming from nowhere and everywhere, at once. Lance couldn’t place where it was coming from, but he instantly knew the voice’s source.

“Prince Keith?” Hunk asked. Keith stepped from the shadows in reply.

“None of you are. Trapped, I mean. You're free to go at any time. I'd prefer you did, really.”

From where she sat, Pidge shrugged. “You already know my answer to that.”

“And mine,” Hunk added, though he fidgeted in his seat under Keith’s gaze.

“And you?” Keith asked, turning to look directly at Lance. “My castle can't eat you, alive or otherwise, so unless you intend to avoid me while you're here you might as well leave now.” His lips quirked at the corner, a kind of smirk playing at them. Lance was only beginning to assign a probable motivation to that snarky expression when Coran piped up out of nowhere.

“All ready for your nightcap, everyone?”

“Oh, no thank you, Coran.” Lance shook his head. The others followed suit. Coran suddenly looked distressed, steam billowing in little circles from the top of his head.

“Oh, but I insist. Nothing like a warm drink to soothe your weary body, calm your nerves, and help you--”

“It's enchanted,” Keith said flatly. He watched Lance and his friends for their response as he spoke, expressionless and yet somehow expectant. “A potion. He's giving it to you to make you sleep.”

“He-” Lance’s eyes went wide. He turned them on Coran. “You're drugging our tea?!”

“It's merely a tonic to help you rest, sir,” Coran assured him. “The prince drinks the same tea every evening.”

Lance groaned. “Oh, that's really comforting. So, that's why I slept so well in this creepy castle last night. Gah!”

“It's just herbal tea, Lance,” Pidge sighed. “My mom used to make it for us sometimes, too. Remember?”

“He called it a potion, Pidge,” Lance shouted. Pidge was unmoved.

“He could have called it a porridge and you'd have been ready to believe him if it fit your thinking.”

“Alright, that's enough,” Lance said curtly, cutting her short of lecturing him further. She was right. But how could he not be quick to anger, there? He grew more uncomfortable with what was going on around them by the moment, and he seemed to be the only one with his head still on his shoulders about it. “I'm tired of this. Tired of this place. I want to go home.”

“Nothing is stopping you,” Keith said, his tone like a challenge. Lance took it.

“Except your magical drug potion tea!”

“It's Coran’s tea,” Keith corrected. He examined his hands, looking at his claws like he was entirely unfazed while Lance was busy working himself into a furor. It only made Lance more upset.

“Which is another thing - he's a teapot!” Lance all but bellowed. “Wouldn't that make the tea, like…”

Keith chuckled then, an odd, cold sound as he leaned back against the wall behind him. “Don't overthink it.” He crossed his arms over his chest, looking far too relaxed, too casual and comfortable with watching them all squirm for Lance's taste.

“See?” Lance asked of Pidge, of Hunk. “This is what I'm talking about! How do you two not want to leave?”

“If you want to leave so badly, why don't you run along, back to the man who's waiting for you at home?” Keith asked. When Lance was startled into turning back to look at him, he drew himself up taller, looking even smugger than before. “I hear you have a wedding proposal to think about, after all.”

“How… How do you know about that?” Lance asked, his heart beating fast and shallow in his chest. That eerie, fearful feeling was becoming all too common.

Keith simply shrugged, like he hadn't said something utterly terrifying. “You're not very good at keeping your voice down, village boy.”

There was another moment of panicked silence in Lance’s mind as what Keith had said registered, and then suddenly that quiet gave way to bubbling, blistering _anger._

“You were listening in on us, weren't you?” he shouted. “Well, two can play that game. Why don't you unsheath your friend there, and let him tell you how insufferable you are?”

Surprise and confusion flashed across Keith's strange, violet features, then something akin to embarrassment. It didn't last long. What replaced it was a quiet but glass-clear look of rage as he grabbed at the sheath of his sword - Shiro - on reflex.

“You - when did--” he muttered. Eyes narrowing, he seemed to understand quite suddenly that Lance had been listening in on his and Shiro’s conversation. It only seemed to make him angrier. “You should go. The lot of you, but especially you,” he said, pointing at Lance alone. The others seemed to fade from his sight for a moment as he spoke. “You have no desire to be here and I'm finished pretending to feel otherwise myself.”

At that, Lance snorted a laugh. “You're a terrible actor, if that's your idea of pretending to want us around,”

“ENOUGH!” Keith roared, slamming a fist into the wall behind him, cracking it. “Leave. Now.”

“I will!!” Lance spat. He tore from the room, headed for the doors through which he and Hunk had first come. The others be damned if they wanted to stay so badly.

He was getting out of the monster's house of horrors, regardless.

\--

“At least wait until the sun comes up,” Hunk suggested, trailing after him as Lance headed for the door that would lead back out into the castle courtyard. Lance cocked an eyebrow at the very thought.

“And drink the magic sleepy tea again? No thanks.”

“Do you remember how creepy getting here was?” Hunk contended, trying to stand between Lance and the door. Lance pushed past him.

“I don't care! I'm going home.” Before he reached for the handle of the door, he stopped short. Sighing, he turned back to look at his friends. “I'll tell your parents you're alright, okay?” he said. He turned to Pidge, then. “You can tell your mom the rest when you come home. Whenever that is.”

Hunk and Pidge traded glances and then looked back at Lance. They didn’t argue. Instead, they hugged him from either side as Pidge’s father lit his exit and whispered behind them, “Be careful, Lance.”

\--

In the day or two - three? - that they had been in the castle, someone had fixed the foyer door Hunk had knocked from its hinges upon their entry. Lance found that when pushed from inside it now gave way easily, swinging without the terrible creaking that most of the metal in the place was prone to. He closed it behind himself and looked out across the courtyard and gardens between that door and the outer walls.

The look of death and stillness was even more striking then, knowing that just behind him inside the castle, there were living things. The wind of the early evening was brisk and the land beyond the castle’s walls quickly darkening, so he stepped carefully out onto the bridge that hung over the moat that ringed the castle.

Looking down at it properly, Lance thought the water looked much more like ink. It was dark and seemed unaffected by the wind, with not so much as a ripple in its surface. It only served to remind him of how strange a place he’d found himself in - and urge him onward to find his own home, again.

It was hard not to silently wish Pidge and Hunk could have been reasoned with enough to come along. Not that he needed help out there; he could handle himself, thank you very much. Rather, he worried for their sake, lingering any longer in the madhouse he was leaving behind. He hoped they would follow his lead sooner, rather than far too late.

Pointedly avoiding the blank stares of the disintegrating statues that surrounded him, Lance made quick work of heading for the outer walls. Rather than hoisting himself up and over as he had with Hunk, he eyed the opening Pidge had cut into the vines that crisscrossed the large, metal gates. It was just big enough that he could wiggle through it if he was careful. So he was, and so he did.

On the other side of the gate, there was a rush of adrenaline that hit Lance at once. He’d made it. He was outside, officially - entirely off of the monster prince’s grounds. He tried to catch sight of the skyline that lay above his village home in the distance, but in the fading light he could make out little more than the thick clouds of fog that seemed to be rolling in out of nowhere.

Lance thought for a moment, attempting to get his bearings before he went wandering into that mist without direction.

Just beyond where he stood, a small, sharp sound broke the silence. A twig snapping. The earth shifting. Rocks rolling underfoot. Yet, Lance himself had not moved. He looked around, eyes widening as he tried to place the source of the sound.

“Hunk?” he whispered, hoping one of his friends had simply thought better of staying in the castle and had decided to follow him out. “Pidge?”

When he saw no familiar figure and heard no reply, he wondered if - by some miracle - perhaps Keith had followed him out into the courtyard instead, to make amends for his temper flaring moments before. Or just to continue fighting with him there.

“Keith?” he called, once and then again, but there was still no reply. There was the unmistakable sound of footsteps falling somewhere other than beneath his own feet, though - and whoever was making the sound had claws.

Before Lance had time to take a proper survey of his surroundings, three great, grey wolves appeared from the fog. They cut through the thick mist like steel blades, their features sharp and teeth bared white against their dark coats. Lance looked between them, trying not to move too suddenly as his heart all but stopped in his chest.

They had cornered him. His only escape was to try to slip back through the vines or climb the massive gate behind him, with a prayer that he could leap beyond the reach of their claws in enough time to elude them. Hands fumbling behind him, Lance realized at once that the vines had somehow grown closed over the spot through which he had come. As the wolves drew nearer and he realized the full size of them, the hope of living through his encounter with them evaporated into the cool, night air.

The force of being knocked backward registered with Lance before he had even realized that one of the creatures had moved. His sleeve pulled him to the ground fully as the wolf tore through it, heat searing under the place where its claws had been. The sound that came from Lance as the other two moved in on him was supposed to be a cry for help, loud and piercing enough to carry itself back to the people in the castle behind him. Instead, it was a shrill squeak, the last exhale of a person about to die a most horrible death.

And then, another sound took Lance’s breath away altogether.

A thunderous roar deafened him, silenced the wolves as they readied for the kill, and stopped them in their tracks. Where once there had been only an ever-shortening length of bare, dusty ground between Lance and the remaining wolves, there was suddenly another being.

Whatever it was, the wolves seemed to fear it more than Lance feared them. The creature that had pinned Lance to the floor like a prized kill withdrew from him immediately, ears pinned back.

“BE GONE!” the figure roared at the dogs, and all three of them scattered back into the mist from which they had appeared. Growling after them, the figure in front of Lance watched them go until it was satisfied they weren’t coming back. Then, it turned to Lance.

“Are you alright?” a familiar voice asked, sounding more human by the second. It was less of a question and more of a demand for an answer, but Lance could only nod for a moment, his voice stuck in his throat. When he finally managed to speak, to move and breathe again, he stepped forward just enough to be sure of who he was seeing.

“Keith…” he asked, and Keith’s cloak fell away from his face as he took Lance’s hand to help him to his feet. He nodded.

“Are you alright?” he asked again. His voice was still frightening and rough, but it softened along with his expression as he drew closer to look Lance over.

Lance nodded, still terrified and numb.

“Why did they - did you--”

“They've killed everyone who has tried to flee the castle,” Keith said, glancing back toward the direction in which the wolves had retreated. “You're not one of us. I didn't think…” He trailed off then, bringing a hand to Lance’s arm where his shirt was torn. A large, deep gash had been left in his skin, and as fear began to fade Lance could finally feel it. He swallowed, looking back at Keith - Keith, who was examining him with a strange measure of concern, of care. Lance figured it surely had to be rooted in guilt, at letting him face the wolves in the first place.

Which reminded him…

“So, you let me come out here... knowing that?” he asked, trying hard to shift the focus away from the strange unease he felt under Keith's intense gaze. “You weren't even going to mention it? How bad do you want me dead?!”

Keith growled, only this time it was a sound like something being ripped forcibly from him. “If I wanted you dead, why would I have come after you?!” he snarled. Lance was startled, but not afraid.

“Why _did_ you?”

There was a pause then, a complete lack of sound as Keith stared back at him. Just as Lance began to wonder if he'd somehow lost his hearing, thunder rolled somewhere far in the distance, and Keith looked down and away. “No one else will die because of me.”

Lance stared at him for another long, silent moment. There was more to be said; he could feel it, hanging unspoken in the air between them. If Keith wasn’t willing to reach out for the words, though, then neither was he. He remained quiet, his heart still attempting to regain its rhythm after everything he had just lived through.

Gathering himself up into his most human stance, Keith drew a slow deep breath and cleared his throat. “The others will be worried,” he said, taking a torch from its perch on the wall and lighting it. He did not look at Lance, only turned his head slightly so that he could be heard. “You should come inside and let them know you're alright.”

Lance watched him for a moment. There were at least a thousand and thirteen things he could have said at that moment, but not a single one seemed to fit the complex mold of his emotions. There was fear, a feeling that had been heavy on his shoulders for days, and there were bitterness and anger directed at Keith. But there were other things as well. Wonder. Intrigue. And something else there that he hadn't felt before that very moment that he couldn't quite name.

He didn't try to. He only nodded, following Keith's distant lead back into the castle.

\--

Upon Lance's reentry into the main hall, the others nearly toppled him backward as they rushed at him. There were sighs of relief and near-sobs of joy at seeing him mostly-unharmed, and he couldn't help the tiny rush of affection he felt toward the motley little crew of chattering objects that flanked his friends as they welcomed him back.

“Lance, my boy,” Samuel said with great relief, “I'm so glad the prince made it to you in time!”

“The prince?” Lance scoffed, only realizing how terribly disheveled his hair was upon running his fingers through it as he spoke. “I had those overgrown sheepdogs on the run long before he arrived!”

“You're welcome,” Keith muttered, standing just a few meters away. Lance frowned in his direction, pointing.

“Don't you start, you nearly got me killed!”

Keith bared his teeth for a second, nearly hissing through them. “I saved your life, didn't I?”

Lance huffed a sour-sounding laugh. “Only just!”

“That doesn't even make sense!” Keith argued. He looked as if he had more to say, but then his expression suddenly and inexplicably softened. Dragging a clawed hand down harmlessly over his face, he sighed into his palm. “Never mind. Goodnight. To all of you.” Then, with a shake of his head and a wave of his hand - one that almost looked genuinely pleasant - he was gone.

Lance watched him leave, an involuntary habit he had found himself making over the last few days. When Keith was out of sight, Lance exhaled a heavy sigh of his own and looked back at the others.

“Coran, I've changed my mind,” he announced.

“About what, young sir?” Coran piped up.

“I think I'll have _two_ cups of that tea.”

\--

After Lance had finished his first cup of tea - and explained his entire ordeal with the wolves in gripping, graphic detail to his friends - he sat through a looking-over by Hunk, who bandaged his arm. Though he rolled his eyes at his friend’s attention, it felt nice to be reminded that in this terrifying world they’d wandered into, he still had friends to look after him.

More than he had originally counted, it seemed.

Keith had come after him, come to save him, specifically. Even if Lance still felt some ill toward him for not advising him about the dangers beyond the courtyard beforehand, he still could scarcely believe that Keith had come to his aid. Perhaps he wasn’t quite so much the monster as Lance had first assumed.

Or maybe he was. There was still so much Lance didn’t know. Either way, if he and his friends were apparently going to be trapped there by way of wolves and magic for any amount of time, perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad idea to keep the scariest, magical monster of them all on his side.

Lance had expected to find Keith’s door tightly closed and locked for the evening. So, when he walked past his room and found it widely cracked and saw light still pouring out from inside, he sidled into the doorway before he could think better of it.

It took a moment for Keith to notice he was there. Shiro, the great sword that leaned against the foot post of Keith’s bed seemed to see him first. Smiling in Lance’s direction and drawing Keith’s attention that way as well. Keith raised his eyes to Lance’s; they looked tired, and perhaps sad, though it was hard to know for certain.

“Yes?” Keith asked simply. Lance swallowed, worrying his lip with his teeth for a moment while he gathered his thoughts into words.

“I, uh, I just…” he trailed off, trying to think of a more elaborate reason for standing in Keith's doorway. He couldn't. He settled instead for the truth. “Thank you. For earlier. You didn't have to do that and I just wanted you to know I appreciate it. That's… That’s all I needed to say.”

He turned to leave, but Keith spoke up. It startled him still.

“Lance?” The sound of Keith's voice was soft - almost fearful - just for a moment. He stood, setting the mirror carefully on the table before turning his attention back to Lance. “I… You're welcome. Just. Try not to be so reckless, will you?”

Lance laughed, the first genuine one he could remember in days. “Alright. Try to let me know next time my mortal being is in danger, yeah?”

Keith nodded. His lips quirked to one side, the barest hint of a smile playing at them. Though the teeth he almost bared were large and sharp, there was no look of danger in their veiled appearance. His mouth was unmistakably human in the way it quivered around the attempt not to break into a full grin.

“Yes. Of course. Alright. Goodnight, Lance.”

Sleep came easier that night for Lance and despite everything, his dreams were strangely pleasant.


End file.
